Chapter 15

Stasi

The next morning, I wake to the smell of coffee, toast, and bacon.

"Good morning," the prince says.

I roll over to find a tray table beside the bed with breakfast. The prince stands over my bed, wearing a crisp white tee shirt and tan trousers that look too business-like for fishing.

"Breakfast in bed?" I ask.

The no-nonsense prince replies, "How are you feeling?"

"Good," I answer, sitting up and nibbling the toast. "What time is it?"

"Seven am."

"I would have thought you would be fishing by now."

He doesn't answer but gestures with his chin. "How is the burn?"

I pull at the strap of my tank top and examine my shoulder.

"Hm. Not angry red like last night. You probably will not blister," he says.

"Good to know, Doctor. What's on the agenda today?"

"For you? Resting indoors," he says.

I pout. "But I thought you would show me how to fish today?"

"That can wait for another day. And besides, I'm out of fish bait. And with the news chattering about my disappearance, I don't want to go into town."

That's an easy thing to solve. "I can order you fish bait from the grocery store, and they can deliver it," I say.

"Why do you insist on making me operate in the 21st Century?" Sigurd asks.

"Because it's fun to watch you squirm," I say.

This gets me a chuckle, which I find gratifying.

"It's going to be very sunny again, so you're staying in the shade," he says.

"Boring," I say.

"It's one day out of a two-week vacation," he replies. "We'll go outdoors tomorrow."

Wait a minute. "We?"

Is that a smile playing on his lips? "You didn't think I was going to leave you alone, did you?"

I blink at him. "Well…yes."

He snorts. "Right. Because I can trust you to be still and take care of yourself? Because as soon as I go exploring, I won't return to find you getting yourself into trouble?"

I think about how to answer this. If I say yes, I can take care of myself, it means I'm so independent that I don't need or want him hanging around. If I say I'm not to be trusted alone, I seem like a damsel in distress. I don't know which angle to take here, honestly.

"I really liked how you taught me to clean a fish. So, if you refuse to take me out onto the lake to teach me how to fish or teach me how to swim because you think I need to stay out of the sun, then maybe you can show me how to fend off a bear so I'll be safe on my own while you're out…doing whatever it is you need to do. And I'll stay here and order you some nightcreepers."

"Nightcrawlers."

"Still a terrible name."

The prince stares at me for a moment, then heaves a sigh, the kind of sigh that I'm getting used to hearing from him. I'm not mad at it.

"I'm not going to teach you to fend off a bear."

"Shoot," I say with a pout.

"If a wild animal sees you, he's likely to run away anyway."

"Sigurd."

"Ah, shit, maybe I shouldn't have told you that. Knowing you, you'll probably immediately run up to a fox and try to pet it."

He seems to be up in his head and babbling to no one. It's general grousing about me and my bad habit of getting injured. It's kind of charming. Adorable, really. "Sig."

Oh, but he's not done.

"If you stumble upon a large predator who wants to attack, it's too late. There's no fending it off. All you can do is shoot them, and I don't have my hunting gear. It's not hunting season, after all. But that's not a likely scenario, though."

"Your Highness," I repeat.

"But maybe I should have brought my hunting gear just in case. Shit, yes. That was a mistake. I might have stashed one of my crossbows in the woodshed…"

I can't take it anymore. "Sigurd!"

"What?" Sigurd snaps.

I grab the man by the front of his shirt and drag him forward for a surprise kiss on the lips.

A moment later, the surprise melts into a warm embrace. He leans into the kiss, his arms circling my waist. Breakfast is forgotten.

"Thank you for taking care of me," I say, surprised by the emotions that bubble up when I say that.

He just stares down at me, the two worry lines between his eyes extra pronounced. "It is what I do," he says.

I raise one eyebrow at him. "So, you'd do the same if I were an 87-year-old grandma with bad breath and a rotten attitude?"

A flirtatious gleam lights up his eyes. "Yes, but I wouldn't want to bang an 87-year-old grandma with bad breath and an attitude. Unless she wanted to put me in her will."

I gasp and retort with a shocked smile, "You would gigolo an old lady?"

"That all depends on how deeply I'm on the King's shit list when all this marriage nonsense blows over."

I laugh, even as my insides go a teeny tiny bit numb. I would not run and hide if I had a father who cared so much about my future that he offered to find me a spouse.

Stability and people who care whether I come and go? That's my catnip.

"What's wrong?" Sigurd asks.

His hands are still circling my waist, and I feel their width spanning my lower back. They feel so good right there; I never want him to let go. But I can't revel in this feeling.

Hiding what I'm really thinking, I continue the banter. Giving a sassy shoulder, I say, "I'm sorry, but I don't have an inheritance to share with you. It's simply me. Simply Stasi."

He leans in, and with his lips so close to mine that I can feel them move without actually touching, he murmurs, "There is nothing simple about you, Stasi. And that's the way I like you. You are perfect, but you are not and never will be simple, my girl."

I swear to every god we honor that if he were to follow that up with a marriage proposal, I would say yes. Immediately yes. A thousand times, yes.

As it stands, that speech ends with our lips fastened together in a passionate, mind-bending kiss. And my lady parts wet themselves and throb for more of his pretty words, more of his everything.

I want to kiss every inch of him for that speech.

And I know we'd be so, so good together.

When we pull apart from the kiss after several long, beautiful moments, I am breathless.

"Okay," I say, nodding. "You've convinced me to stay indoors today."

"Good." He gives me a short, sweet, nibbling kiss that heats my nethers. Want more of that. Want more of those teeth…everywhere. Oh gods.

"Wh-what kind of indoor activities did you have in mind?" I ask.

The dark flecks in his gray eyes darken. "This," he says, slipping his hand from my lower back. He smooths away the blanket spread over my legs on the bed and examines my thighs.

"Any pain? Burning?"

I shake my head no.

His dark look turns to a glower. "Stasi?"

"It's a little hot, but seriously it's not that bad."

"I want you to tell me exactly where it hurts when I touch you. And don't you dare lie. You think I don't notice it when you're wincing, but I can see it in your eyes." As Sigurd talks to me, he rests two palms on me, one on each of my legs, softly stroking his thumbs along the tender flesh of my inner thighs. The hold feels so sure and steady. Possessing and nurturing.

I don't have any witty comeback to that. I don't have anything but my breath puffing out, "Yes. I will."

With my eyes, I tell him, "Yes, Daddy," and I know he sees it.

Sigurd's nostrils flare.

I swallow hard and try something. "I will tell you everything you want to know if you…if you put the lotion on me."

Sigurd's lips part, his teeth gritted, and his jaw working. I'm desperate to hear another one of his low growls, like the one he emitted when the grocery delivery man came. The same frustrated, horny growl I imagined he uttered when he accidentally saw me topless on the dock yesterday.

He reaches for the lotion, squirts some into his hands, and then rubs his palms together to warm it.

"You do realize that I benefit from both ends of that bargain," Sigurd points out.

Oh boy, that's where he's wrong. Sigurd's weather-beaten fingers feel amazing on my skin as he works the lotion in with sensuous, slow circles.

"But I get the side bonus of a massage and the pleasure of knowing that your hands will smell extra fruity as a result," I say, resisting the urge to close my eyes at the sensation of his hands traveling higher, rubbing more lotion into my upper thighs before traveling back down to my knees and calves.

"The only thing I want my hands to smell like is your essence."

I am going to pass out.

"Your Highness," I breathe. "So naughty."

He only grunts as he takes one calf in his hand and lifts my leg, bringing my foot high. Before I can ask what he's doing, he's gripping my foot and massaging the arch with his thumb.

Anybody else doing that would make me ticklish, but Sigurd's touch makes me shiver.

I giggle. "The bottoms of my feet are not sunburned, Your Highness."

"Better safe than sorry," he rumbles.

"You're right," I say with a sigh and a blissed-out smile. "A little lube in a strange place isn't going to hurt anyone."

This triggers a loud belly laugh from the prince.

"If you like that, I've got lots more inappropriate jokes where that came from," I say, "Keep rubbing me like a genie's lamp, and you never know what might pop—oh…"

My words are cut off because this man has slid his grip up to my ankles and heaved me onto his lap crosswise. I yelp in surprise. Then, as naturally as rain in the forest, I circle my arms around his shoulders to steady myself. This, of course, places our faces so close together that it feels so much more intimate than a countertop kissing session.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to kiss me again, Your Highness."

"I am," he growls, capturing my lips between his. "It's all I think about."

I melt into this moment of firm lips on mine, murmured sweet words, small moans of longing, of thrilling touches. My tongue is the aggressor this time. I'm addicted to the prince's mouth, his taste, his passion that's evident in low groans and growls and kneading fingers.

His hand drags upward, until his thumb toys with the edge of my knickers. Keep going, I think. Don't hesitate.

I pull back from the kiss and meet his heated gaze with one of my own. "Blanket permission to touch me anywhere you like."

"Stasi," he grits out.

I can't help myself. I moan softly against his kiss, aware of the dampness soaking at my core. If he says my name like that again, I'll be leaving a trail of wetness on his lap.

"Anywhere you like. With anything you like."

A growl vibrates against my palm that rests on his breastbone. I punctuate every thought in my head with a tonguing kiss against his corded throat, my fingers toying with his beard.

"Wherever you want to touch me…my legs…my jugs…my pussy…wherever you want to put your hands…your cock…your mouth…it's fine with me, but I encourage it."

The hand at the edge of my panties skims slowly upward, over top of the material, as if he's memorizing every inch of me. As this happens, Sigurd keeps his gaze locked on mine, which is unsettlingly intimate and so exciting I can't look away.