The Wicked Prince

by Wood, Vivian

  Against her pale skin and dark little dress, it really pops.

  When she finds a place that calls to her, she turns with a grin. She takes a long swig from her red solo cup, throwing up her free hand and swaying along to the insistent beat.

  I take a long pull of my beer and shuffle my feet around, hoping she doesn’t realize how much I feel like a fish out of water just now. She grins and grabs a fistful of my hooded sweatshirt, pulling me toward her.

  I slide my free hand around the small of her back, touching my hips to hers. She bites her lip and sways against me, her eyes meeting mine. I see a teasing sort of amusement reflected there.

  The song changes tempos, slowing down just a bit. I give her a smirk and lean down close to her ear.

  “You are playing with fire,” I tell her.

  “Who, me?” she says, sliding her arms around my neck. “I don’t know what you mean. Usually I’m so cautious.”

  I shake my head a little, smiling down at her. “You are dangerous.”

  All the while our bodies move together, almost grinding against each other, but not quite. Her small hips fit neatly against mine; my big hands splay out over her lower back. Our bellies press together but I’m hardly aware of that.

  No, I’m sucked into her dark blue eyes, full of mischief and daring. We dance like that for another half a minute, then the DJ changes out music again, something faster this time.

  Margot puts some space between us and rocks out, her hands going up, her movements rhythmic. Her eyes are closed, her pink hair glowing under the low light, the neckline of her dress dipping low to show off a scant quarter inch of her bright pink bra.

  After another few songs, I’m staring at her like I’m a man dying of thirst and she’s the only refreshing sip of water left in my canteen. I’ll admit it; I’m starting to be obsessed with the way that she shakes her hips, the way that her chest rises when she breathes, the plump bow of her lips in relation to her heart shaped face. She slows down, jerking her head to the bar.

  “I need another beer. Wanna come with?”

  My lips lift. “Sure.”

  When she turns and walks away, I follow. I’m staring at her perfect ass and amazing legs as long as I can before it disappears behind other people who cross between us. Margot glances back at me, giving me a knowing smile.

  God damn.

  I find myself walking a little faster to catch up with her. She queues up, trying to pull out her wallet again. I make a face at her.

  “Put your fucking wallet away,” I grit out.

  She wrinkles her nose. “I’m just trying to be egalitarian about getting us beers.”

  I lean in close, pushing the hood of my sweatshirt down off my head. “I’m the fucking crown prince of Denmark. The idea of you trying to get even with me by buying me beers is laughable.”

  Margot shrugs, rolling her eyes, but there is still a trace of a smile on her lips. “Whatever makes you happy, your highness.”

  A blonde girl in front of us overhears a little of our conversation. Turning her head, she checks out Margot, who absolutely looks like she belongs here in this club. When the blonde looks at me, her eyebrows go up. She does a double take, squinting, trying to place me.

  Shit.

  I turn away, raising my hood. The last thing I need tonight is getting spotted here, and with Margot to boot. Luckily, a few seconds later the bartender comes and asks for our orders. After we grab more beers, we head to an ill-lit corner away from the blaringly loud music.

  There aren’t any tables here as such. It’s just a single long red leather booth that contours to the walls, worn and torn and covered in graffiti. Margot plops herself down on the seat beside a few young guys that look at her with wide eyes.

  They probably think that their dream girl just came over to make their whole lives a little better. Shooting them a quelling glare, I find a seat beside her and stretch out my long legs.

  Margot sizes me up, one corner of her mouth kicking up. She looks almost impish, sitting there so petite and so clearly amused.

  “What?” I ask, sipping my beer.

  She shrugs, smiling as she tastes her beer. “For an obscenely rich person, you’re pretty okay, I guess.”

  I sputter, spitting some foam back inside my red solo cup. She grins at my reaction, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “So you’re saying I’m not horrible?” I laugh, wiping foam from my nose.

  “I’m saying that you have your moments,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You also have moments where you act like a rich spoiled brat.”

  “What? No way, I’m a lot more grounded than you think. I mean, considering my unique set of circumstances, the fact that I can hang out here is like… amazing.”

  She cocks a brow. “I admire you less for it because we’re talking about it. Like I just lost maybe… five percent of the esteem that you gained in my eyes.”

  I chuckle. “That’s good to know.” I tilt my head to the side. “So not terrible and handsome. Is that all you think about me?”

  She turns bright pink. “Who said I think you’re handsome?”

  Squinting at her, I set my beer by my feet. “Unless you’ve changed drastically since New York City, I would say that you did. It was implied when we fucked.”

  Margot shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “We didn’t fuck. We did… other stuff.”

  I bite my lip, unprepared for the influx of mental images that spring to mind.

  Margot giving me the naughtiest look as she drops to her knees. The way her hair felt against my fingers as she took me in her mouth. The way I spread her wide open and tongued her clit, over and over, soaking up every rich drop of pleasure that I could wring from her flesh.

  I’m already hard for her. Leaning over, I brush her gossamer hair back. Then I lean in close so that my lips almost touch her ear.

  “What, oral sex isn’t fucking now?” I grate out.

  She sips her beer coolly and glances away, but I can see her blush. “I stand behind my statement.”

  The second I lift up my hand to touch her, a static electricity starts to build in the air. Sliding my hand around to cup her jaw, I turn her to face me. I use my thumb to angle her head just so.

  Margot looks back at me, her deep blue eyes pinning me in place. God, I could just look at her like this, in this moment, forever.

  But her gaze slides down to my mouth. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, pink clashing with the white or her teeth. My ring finger slips over the pulse point in her neck.

  Her heart races. I lean in, brushing my lips over hers. Her pulse jumps and she lifts her hand to my hoodie, fisting it tightly in her grip. I start to pull back, but she follows me, ghosting another kiss over my lips.

  I growl into her mouth, my hands shifting Margot half out of her seat. She surges forward and I’m ready for her, kissing her. I slide my hand down between her legs, making her gasp. Then I fucking feast on her, dominating the exchange, groaning as I sweep the inside of her sweet fucking mouth with my tongue.

  I groan. She tastes like stale beer laid over something indescribably delicate and sweet. Margot nips at my bottom lip when I give her the chance. I growl again, picturing exactly how she will look naked and writhing against my pillows.

  God damn, she is so fucking hot.

  But then she pulls back, breathing hard, her eyes darting back and forth across my face. “Stellan…” she whispers, biting her lip. “This? You and me? It’s not a good idea.”

  I give my head a shake and try to kiss her again, but she shoves me off. “I said no. I know that’s not something you’re used to…”

  “You want me,” I say, trying to keep the accusations from my voice. I splay one big hand across her heart and pin her with my gaze. “I know you do. I can feel your heart race every time I fucking touch you.”

  Margot rises to her feet, surveying me as smoothly as any queen would look at a peasant groveling at her feet. “I think I’m going to go dance.”


  She picks up her beer from the floor and then walks off without so much as another word. I’m left sitting in the uncomfortable bench and scowling to myself.

  Margot is being a total dick about this. She’s probably right about it being a bad idea, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

  As I lurch upward, heading after her, I catch the sneers that the young guys next to me are sending my way. I lean over, purposely using my height and sheer size.

  “Fuck off,” I growl.

  Then I grab my beer and stomp off after Margot, my brain still doing cartwheels, trying to figure out what just happened between us.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Margot

  I step off the luxurious private jet onto the tarmac, pulling my sunglasses onto my face. Kristiansund spills out beneath my view like an inky puddle; I can see the coastline spreading out a couple of miles down from where I’m standing, bright green grass meeting the cobalt blue sea. In the distance, I can make out yellow and red and white cottages.

  This looks like a sleepy little fishing village.

  I shiver against the wind. We’re so far north in Norway that the weather is quite brisk. The flight attendant is right behind me with my bags. I try to take them at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Here, let me help,” I offer.

  I can immediately tell from the puzzled look on his face that I’m not actually supposed to take my bags. When he speaks, his English sounds clipped. He’s Finnish or Norwegian, maybe.

  “Let me take them over to the car for you,” he says, smiling despite his bafflement. In his tidy-looking steward’s uniform, he is the very picture of propriety right now.

  “Right,” I mutter, trailing along behind him. Raising my eyes to the limousine that awaits me, I allow myself to be ushered into the back. “Thank you!” I manage to call to the steward.

  He tilts his head and a vaguely disapproving expression appears on his face. He inclines his head. “Have a pleasant journey, Miss Keane.”

  I never even got his name.

  That’s what I think about while the limo takes me down into the village, down cobbled streets as little white and yellow houses zoom by my view. That, and how I got here.

  The note is still in my tote bag.

  Come with me for the weekend.

  Pack a bag. — S

  Five hours later, feeling remarkably hassled even though I was just on a private jet, here I am. The limousine pulls to a halt outside of an adorable little red cottage and I get out, heaving a sigh.

  Stellan called. He’s my assignment.

  That’s the reason I came. The only reason. After parting ways the other night, I didn’t hear from him for five days. Five interminably long days.

  I wasn’t entirely sure I would hear from him ever again, period. And yet here Stellan is, opening the door when I knock. He smiles coolly, stepping back and welcoming me in.

  “Come on,” he says, his lips carefully pursed. “Don’t let all the heat out.”

  My nose twitches at the tone of his voice; he sounds commanding, not inviting. Heaving another sigh, I walk into a cozy, bright kitchen area. It’s all done in teal and baby pink, a decorator after my own heart.

  The driver leaves my bags by the door and leaves without a word. Stellan just skirts around the marble kitchen island and heads out of the room. I hate when he expects me to follow him without asking any questions.

  Grinding my teeth, I trail his wake into a living area. Sunlight spills into the room from a window that stretches almost from one wall to the other. A bright white couch sits against the wall to my far right, piled high with cozy-looking afghans and soft pillows. To my left is a little table that doubles as a chess board and two chairs pulled up to it.

  Straight ahead, I can see that there is a hallway, probably containing the bedrooms and the bathroom. Stellan is already throwing himself onto the couch, so I pull one of the chairs out. Sitting down, I cock my head at him. “So?”

  He squints. “So what?”

  A huffed laugh leaves me. “I’m here. You summoned me after putting me on the back burner for most of the week. Now what?”

  He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I don’t have any plans. I just had a really busy week, so…” He shrugs one shoulder. “That’s the only reason I didn’t call you sooner.”

  I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. “So your sudden coolness has nothing to do with the fact that you kissed me last week?”

  He looks tiredly out the window, sighing. “No, Margot. I don’t understand you, really. You reject my advances… but still you expect me to treat you like a friend, as opposed to a nosy fucking reporter.” He peers at me. “Which you are, by the way.” He stands up suddenly, looking fierce. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be my friend?”

  “Yes.” I uncross my arms and sit forward, leaning my elbows on my knees. “Stellan…” When he looks over at me, I take a steadying breath. “You realize that I’m just trying to keep us both safe, right? I’m attracted to you. You are attracted to me. And that would be good enough if you were anyone else. But… you’re not. You’re the crown prince of fucking Denmark.”

  Stellan looks at me, his ice blue eyes threatening to pierce me through to the core. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I’m aware of that every fucking second of every single day? No one will let me forget it.”

  I falter. He seems to be in pain. Or maybe it’s just a weariness that comes with carrying the burden of being the prince. I don’t know which.

  “I’m sorry, Stellan. I really am.” Sitting back in the wooden chair, I watch him recompose his facial expression. He wipes away all the traces of sadness. What’s left is a face I recognize all too well.

  He looks remote. Withdrawn. Untouchable.

  My fingers itch with the need to touch him, to tell him that things will be okay. Even though I know that saying that might just be a pretty, comforting lie.

  I have less control over this situation than anybody else, honestly.

  He turns to me, changing the subject as if the entire conversation before now simply never happened. “Do you want to go for a walk? Maybe we could go down by the shoreline. There is a little restaurant there that I always patronize whenever I am here.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here and talk some more?” I ask.

  He pins me with his gaze. “I couldn’t be more certain.” He heads to the hallway in the back, leaving me to bite my lip and wonder what exactly is going on in his head. Is he still upset about the other night?

  Or is he really just switching tracks like he changed subjects?

  Stellan reappears, zipping a light raincoat up over his dark wool sweater. He eyes me in my dark leather jacket, short black skirt, and neon pink tights. “Are you going to be warm enough?”

  I scowl at his question. “I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” He shrugs. “Come on, then.”

  He strides out of the room and through the kitchen, making me scurry to keep up with him. He’s out of the door and into the cool air in seconds. I follow, shivering a little at the shock of going from the warmth of the house out into the chilly atmosphere.

  Stellan turns back and sees me shiver. His eyes narrow. “I told you.”

  I grit my teeth and stick my hands in my pockets. “It’s fine. Keep leading the way, like you always do.”

  He squints at me, then casts a look around the cobblestone street we are on. “Yeah, all right. Whatever that means. Come on, will you?”

  I start marching downhill and Stellan falls in beside me. His eyes are on the horizon as we walk. I look at the green grass and the brown shoreline, only a quarter of a mile away. They are fitted so snugly with the blue-black ocean, each affecting the other’s shaping.

  At length, I scrunch my face up and look at him. “So is this how it usually works? You do five intense days of hand shaking and autograph signing, then you are allowed to jet off to one of the royal family’s getaways for the we
ekend?”

  He sighs. “Ja, more or less. Usually Erik is with me when I escape.”

  I nod slowly. “And where is he this time?”

  His shoulders lift in a shrug. “No idea. He said he had something he wanted to do. I didn’t press him for details. Besides… it’s nice to be alone once in a while.”

  I look at him oddly. “You’re not alone, Stellan. You’re with me.” I scrunch up my nose. “I guess you are used to having a staff at your beck and call, Erik reminding you of appointments, a hundred people always wanting to shake hands with you. I’m starting to think that you have no real idea of what being alone is like.”

  He looks unamused. “Maybe I don’t. Or maybe this weekend is about me, inviting you into my solitude.”

  My eyebrows lift. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  He lifts his head, nodding to a building in the distance. “I want to stop in there for a second. Wait for me.”

  Stellan jogs off toward it, leaving me alone to think about what he said. My mouth twists. I guess there is a wealth of things I don’t understand about his life, just the same way as he can’t possibly fathom every single thing about mine.

  No, it’s not just that, actually. It’s more that I won’t let him in to find out all the secrets about my past that I’ve buried. I don’t want him to know just how poor I used to be. I don’t want anyone to realize how fucking sad I am deep down either.

  My cell phone beeps in the pocket of my leather coat. Shaking my head, I pull it out and read the screen. It’s from an unknown number, but I have no doubt that Anna sent it.

  I just got off the phone with a friend of a friend who says that you and Stellan were kissing at a club last week. That’s interesting, isn’t it?

  Before I can respond, she sends another message.