by Caroline Lee
“After we flemish the lines, I was hoping I could cook you some dinner on board. And maybe show off the forward bunk.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her finger against her chin as she grinned. “Sounds cramped.”
He grunted in agreement. “Really tight fit, you might say.”
She burst into laughter. “Better drive faster, Your Highness.”
So he did.
CHAPTER NINE
The sun was bright enough she needed a hat, and the wind was strong enough for sailing without being alarming…all in all, a perfect day for a Regatta. The bay was filled with boats of all sizes, all under sail, and all flying pennants indicating which division they were racing in.
The Älskvärd flew a blue flag at the very top of the mast, indicating she was in the category for the largest boats, but there were crafts no more than three meters, with yellow pennants streaming in the breeze, and everything in between.
Cass was enjoying herself, sitting beside Kristoff in the cockpit—her hand clamped on top of the cap to keep it from blowing off—watching the other boats. Occasionally he’d ask her to pop forward and check on a line or watch a particularly close pass, but otherwise she was content to sit and watch him work. It really was incredible that he could manage a boat of this size by himself, thanks to the advances in technology.
The winds weren’t quite right today, so all the vessels had to do a lot of tacking back and forth across the lanes. It wasn’t ideal, but it meant each captain was able to prove his or her worth. With all the sailboats coming about and rushing off in different directions whenever the captains thought it appropriate, each crew had to be careful to avoid collisions.
“You see Number Thirty-four?” She called out to Kristoff, pointing to the smaller boat off their port bow.
“I see her.”
Kristoff made a minute correction to the wheel, glancing up at the mainsail as he did so. It seemed like his eyes were never still, constantly tracking his own boat’s progress and the boats surrounding him. He’d deftly stayed out of everyone’s way, even though as one of the larger vessels, it was their job to stay out of his way.
He was a brilliant captain.
That morning, she’d helped him cast off and motor out to the starting spot. It had been incredible to watch all the boats sailing in the same spot—it had looked so dangerous!—until the starting gun signaled and they’d all leapt for the far side of the bay. The buoy which marked the halfway point was past the breakwaters, out in the Baltic. The boats would swing around it and race back.
They passed Number Thirty-four—her identification painted on her mainsail—and pushed out towards the sea. At this point in the race, the larger boats were far outstripping the smaller ones, and soon Kristoff began to relax, as the boats around them were able to spread out.
She stood up then, glad to be able to breathe a bit. “I’m popping below. Do you want anything?”
Kristoff glanced up at the mainsail once more. “Nah, I’m good. Maybe my water bottle?”
“And a shirt?” she teased, eyeing his bare chest, which she’d smeared sunblock all over that morning before they got underway.
“And ruin my reputation as the best-looking pecs in the harbor? No, thank you.”
“Hmmm, good thinking.” She paused, half-in, half-out of the hatch. “For the record, I’m not complaining.”
He met her eyes long enough to wink. “I know.”
She was still smiling as she opened the little fridge and pulled out the aluminum bottle he’d filled earlier for himself. After last night, she knew her way around the small galley pretty well, and remembered to latch the fridge door so it didn’t pop open in rough seas—not that there’d likely be any today.
When he’d brought her back to the Älskvärd yesterday, he confessed he’d been hoping she’d spend the night, because he had ingredients for spaghetti on hand. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was simple and good and it had been fun to make it with him, both of them stepping on one another’s toes and laughing about the cramped space, then eating out in the cockpit while they watched the long, slow sunset.
Then they’d investigated the forward bunk, and had decided it wasn’t too cramped at all…as long as they slept wrapped around each other, which wasn’t a problem.
It had been wonderful. Just what she’d needed after that horrible run-in with Britta and her snobbish brother. Just what she’d needed after those days avoiding Kristoff because of what Britta had said to her.
Yesterday, as soon as Cass had seen him again, those fears and insecurities had become…jumbled. She was thrilled to see him, touch him, taste him…but she couldn’t help remembering Britta’s words, which had been pounding through Cass’s head all week: He felt sorry for you.
But if that had been true, Kristoff wouldn’t have reacted to her as he did; he’d seemed genuinely thrilled to see her, to hold her. To kiss her. And he’d been genuinely concerned about it.
And he’d held her, even after Britta had shown up. Cass still didn’t understand that. Why had Kristoff shown such little interest in someone as beautiful and perfect as the blonde woman? Not just yesterday, but last week, when he’d escorted Cass away from the dinner table and Britta had come after them? She was gorgeous, and definitely interested.
So why wasn’t Kristoff interested in return?
Not that Cass was complaining. Despite her crisis of self-doubt over the last few days, being with Kristoff again was like…like coming home, almost. They’d laughed, they’d teased, they’d touched. He’d told her all about his family history—which fascinated the historian in her—and he’d asked all sorts of questions about ancient Scandinavian traditions. Honestly, she still wasn’t sure if he was genuinely interested, or if he was just asking because he knew she was interested and loved to talk about it…but either way, she figured he was pretty awesome for asking.
You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?
Cass let her forehead fall forwards against the bulkhead between the dinette and the small head. Was she falling in love with Prince Kristoff Magnusson of Aegiria, her soon-to-be-stepbrother?
No.
No, she wasn’t.
She was already in love with him.
Great googly-moogly.
From above, she heard Kristoff say something, lost in the wind. Cass grabbed his water bottle—and the sunglasses she’d come down here for—and climbed back out.
“What?”
He was grinning. “I said, ‘Look who caught up’.” He jerked his head starboard.
The Jensen’s boat—with some unpronounceable Danish name blazoned across the mainsail above “DN13—was coming up fast. She’d been cut off early in the race by a less-experienced craft flying a red pennant, and had to make some quick adjustments to avoid a collision. That had lost them a lot of time, but it looked like they were making up for it now.
“They’re flying her jib.” Cass frowned at the other boat, concerned she was getting twice the speed as Älskvärd, since she had twice the sails. “Why don’t we?”
Kristoff shrugged, looking happier and more relaxed than he had at the beginning of the race. “We didn’t need it, and I figured it was irresponsible.”
“How so?”
She handed him the bottle and stepped up to the wheel to take a turn watching the tension on the sail while he rested his hip against the small table in the cockpit and drank some of the icy water.
He sighed happily as he lowered the bottle. She loved watching him out here, in his element. Shirtless, his long hair blowing all over like that, he really did look like a Viking marauder of old. Or at least, how she’d always imagined them! He was so at ease out here, so happy.
This was where he belonged, and she wouldn’t mind belonging out here with him.
“You’ve never raced, right?”
His question startled her out of her daydream. “Sailing? No. Just pleasure.”
“But you saw how crazy it is there, at the beginning, right?”
She nodded. He’d had to be hyper-focused; not only did his boat require all of his attention, but the boats around him required all of his attention…which meant he had to be focused on fourteen places at once.
“Well, flying the jib means more speed, sure…but more speed can be a bad thing if you’re in the middle of all that crazy.”
Ah. It made sense now. “Less reaction and maneuver time.”
He nodded, and jerked his thumb over their stern at the Jensens. “Even an Olympic medalist like Hans wasn’t flying his jib there at the beginning, and you saw what happened. That must’ve rankled, to be cut off by an amateur like that.” He took another sip. “I wonder why that guy’s here, anyhow. He sailed for Denmark.”
She frowned, her attention forward. “He’s here because Britta wants to win.”
That stupid bet she’d made with the wedding planner had been eating at her all week. Of course, with their lead, she’d begun to relax, because it didn’t look like she’d have any competition for Kristoff at the after-party…but with the Jensens coming up fast, the wager weighed on her more and more.
Kristoff snorted, and nudged her out of the way to take the wheel once more. Cass grabbed his water bottle and tossed it into a locker where he’d be able to reach it, then settled cross-legged up on top of the cabin where she could watch him and their competition off their stern.
“I think it’s more likely Hans is the one who doesn’t want to lose.”
The casual comment reminded Cass what they’d been talking about. “Britta’s pretty damn determined too.” She wasn’t about to mention the fact they’d wagered Kristoff, but Cass didn’t have to sugar-coat it either. “She’s a very determined lady.”
“Yeah, I think that’s why Mom hired her for the wedding planning.” He glanced up at the pennant and made a minor correction based on the wind’s change. “Her event business has boomed in the last few years, becoming one of the biggest names in the country. I think she got her start with Aunt Marina’s money, which is why she recommended her to Mom. But you’ve gotta admit, she gets what she wants.”
Cass frowned, hating the thought that Britta would get what she wanted in this case.
“Are you ready to put up the jib yet?” Britta couldn’t win.
Kristoff chuckled. “We’re nearing the buoy. Check it out.” He jerked his chin towards the bow.
Cass turned around…and gasped. The Baltic was spread out ahead of them, sparkling under the noonday sun like someone dumped silver glitter on top of each little wave. The whitecaps said it was a perfect day for sailing, and the green-blue of the water spread out in every direction.
Slowly, using the boom for balance, Cass pulled herself upright. “Oh my Thor,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”
From behind her, Kristoff’s murmured agreement caused her to glance back. He was staring up at her with a look of adoration which made her uncomfortable.
“Not me, silly.” She blushed and threw her hand out towards the sea. “Look at that! It’s so exhilarating and beautiful and powerful and majestic and all the other words for awesome I can think of, and you’re looking at me? This is incredible, Kristoff!”
He was smiling as he followed her hand with his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. Pretty magical.”
“I can just imagine a longboat, pushed over these waves by a bunch of muscly dudes in furs. Can’t you?”
“It’s easier to sail.”
She had to agree. “You’re right. Especially when you can punch in a command.”
“Speaking of which, get down here.” He nodded towards the bring red buoy coming up fast on their starboard. “We’re going to come about, and I don’t want to have to stop to fish you out of the drink because you got caught by the boom.”
The drink. That had been her grandfather’s saying, and she’d used it last week when Kristoff had invited her sailing. He’d learned it from her, and the thought made her warm inside.
She scrambled down and stood beside him as he cut around the buoy, instinctively ducking as the boom swung about, even though it was well above her head. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her up against him—in all of his shirtless glory—so she didn’t mind, not one bit.
The Baltic receded off their stern as they raced back towards Solrig Bay, the city in the distance. She turned around to glimpse the pristine sea one more time, and frowned as she watched the Jensens’ boat practically fly around the buoy.
“Um, Kristoff?”
He glanced back and cursed under his breath in Aegirian. “Well, so much for trying to play fair, huh?”
He nudged her towards one of the benches, and began punching commands into the Assisted Trim System, his eyes serious as he tried to watch the water, his sails, and the Jensens all at once.
A few seconds later, and the jib began to unfurl from the forestay, in a majestic spectacle. The Älskvärd gave a leap as soon as the extra sail caught the wind, and Cass’s heart leapt too. With both sails flying, they’d surely be able to beat Britta, and Cass could keep Kristoff all to herself!
Still, with the other boat just off their stern, the race was back on—complete with the tension. Whereas a bit ago both of them had been relaxed and carefree, now there was a very real danger of losing to the Jensens. Cass glanced up at Kristoff, and frowned to see his serious expression. He wasn’t looking like someone who was in his element, not any more.
She struggled to find something to distract him, something to make him pleased again. “The Regatta is going well, huh?”
“What?” He frowned down at her quickly before settling into his eyeball routine of water-sails-lines-computer screen-sails-water-Jensens once more. “It just got harder!”
“I know, I just meant…” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “I mean, your family was really worried about something bad happening at the Regatta, it sounded like.” She remembered the meeting she’d interrupted last week. “They were talking about extra security and precautions and all that.”
“Oh yeah.” Sails-lines-water-sails-screen-water. “The committee was working with the Guard about that, but everything looked shipshape and Bristol fashion from what I could see.”
She smiled slightly. “Do you know how cute it is that you use that phrase?”
“I dunno.” He glanced at her again. “Super cute? Or could we go with, like, ‘manly’ maybe?”
“That’s what I meant. Manly. Super-manly.”
He smiled, although it seemed tighter than usual. Water-sails-lines-Jensens.
“But yeah,” she hurried to reassure him. “Everything looked fine on our trip out. I was watching the spectators along the shore and on the beaches. They were all cheering and waving and seemed to be enjoying themselves. I didn’t see anyone in uniform, so hopefully no one noticed anything wrong.”
“I’m glad.” Lines-Jensens-sails-water. “I would’ve been really pissed if someone did something to the Regatta, or put people in danger.”
“If your brothers were right, and someone is trying to stop the wedding—by kidnapping Prince Alek and trying to stop the announcement—then maybe all of this security is overkill. There’s nothing at the Regatta that has anything to do with the wedding, other than the Royal family’s image.”
“You might be right. Coming about!”
Kristoff seemed to punch in a code at the same time he swung the wheel, and the sailboat swung to starboard to catch a better breeze as she tacked. Kristoff looked behind him and cursed again as he noticed the Jensens had snuck in on the starboard side and narrowed their lead.
The other boat was now close enough for Cass to see Britta lounging on the bow in a small black bikini, her arm thrown perfectly up to shield her eyes from the sun and lift and plump her perfect boobs. It might’ve been Cass’s imagination, but she thought the other woman was smirking.
Cass glanced down at her own knees, bare because Kristoff had talked her into wearing her little white shorts again. She rubbed her palms ov
er her thighs, and was glad she was wearing one of his long-sleeved t-shirts. Not only was it a little chilly out here on the water, but she also wasn’t flaunting herself all over like a floozy.
He probably only made the offer because he knew he could get into your pants.
Britta had said that outside of Dad’s office, the day they’d wagered a date with Kristoff on the outcome of this race. But it wasn’t true, was it? Years of doubt and lack of self-confidence shouted, “It’s totally true!” but her time with Kristoff made her question that certainty. He seemed to genuinely like spending time with her, even outside of their awesome bedroom romps.
No, Britta had to be wrong. Kristoff liked Cass for more than just what was in her pants…right?
“So here’s hoping everything’s still good when we get back.”
Kristoff’s casual comment startled her, made Cass think frantically over the last thirty seconds. Had she said any of her depressing-as-hell thoughts out loud? No, so…so he must be still talking about security and the Regatta.
“I’m sure it will be,” she hurried to say, just as they came up on the first clump of boats still racing towards the breakwaters and the buoy.
Kristoff focused on keeping well away from them, but Hans Jensen wasn’t so conscientious. He’d used the opportunity to cut their lead even further.
From the too-languid way Britta waved when Cass looked back, there was a very real chance the Jensens would win.
And if they won, she’d have to explain to Kristoff why she’d agreed to a bet where he was the stakes.
On the other hand, Britta was perfectly gorgeous. Maybe Kristoff wouldn’t mind so much if Cass stepped back for the evening and let him dance with Britta. Let him rub up against her and offer her kisses. Let him take her back to his suite or his boat, and let him make love to her all night long.
Maybe he’d like getting in someone’s pants who was tall and beautiful and not-at-all clumsy.
Just like Cass’s ex-boyfriend, who’d preferred the Britta lookalike to Cass.
“Maybe losing wouldn’t be so bad, huh?”
