Chapter 5

Stasi

"You found it!"

My bra hangs in front of a warm, crackling fireplace as I stand in the bathroom doorway, letting out steam and dabbing the ends of my hair.

I'm dressed in my clean pajama bottoms and a fresh Hello Kitty crop top, not having brought anything with more coverage because I hadn't anticipated company. I'm certainly not going to don the sweaty clothes I wore while traveling today.

Where did I put my stinky traveling clothes, anyway? I should probably give those a soak in the sink along with my swimsuit.

"I thought my bra was lost at sea," I laugh, padding barefoot over to the fire.

My joke is pointless, though, as Sigurd is nowhere to be found.

"Your Highness?"

No answer as I sweep my gaze around the place.

I go to the door facing the private drive and see only Bluebell, still wedged against the cabin, with no other vehicle in sight.

Right, then. He's gone.

Well, shit.

I must remind myself that I am here to be alone in peace and quiet. And yet, my heart sinks a little.

I stand there looking at my damp bra hanging on an iron rack contraption in front of the fire like something from one of those American pioneer shows.

Well, that's one way to do laundry, I suppose. My original plan was to wash my underwear in the sink and let them air dry. The worst case scenario would be heading into town to find a laundromat, but again, not having anticipated company, I gave no thought to whether or not my clothes would start to smell.

So, it's a good thing that Prince Sigurd decided to take off because he wouldn't be too fond of this vacation hygiene plan. Anyway, it saves us from an awkward conversation about my stolen bra.

Poor prince. He probably feels embarrassed that someone found out about his personal kinks. And he probably regrets coming here to ask for his tip money back after watching me nearly injure myself and drown. At least he was nice enough to fish my bra out of the lake and try to dry it for me. I won't tell anyone he's probably a panty stealer, and he won't tell anyone I'm a ding-dong who barely knows how to swim and decided to vacation alone on a lake. There. Even-Steven.

I warm my hands in front of the fireplace and let my eyes wander to the wall of windows overlooking the lake.

"Holy shit!" My heart jumps into my throat when I see, silhouetted against the sunset, a bear skulking around the clearing.

I step closer to the window and take another look.

No… that's not a bear. Those movements belong to a human.

Um…okay…I've got this…

Thinking quickly, I grab the fireplace poker and count to ten as I hype myself up.

I stand perfectly still, watching the man move back and forth from the edge of the clearing to the center. After another moment, I see sparks, then smoke.

Is the prowler building a campfire?

What the hell?

Maybe he's not a prowler but a squatter.

Gods Almighty. I am doomed to never have this place to myself, aren't I?

The next second, I throw open the screen door and begin shouting over the clatter of the wood frame banging hard against the exterior. "Leave now and I won't call the police!"

"Stasi. It's just me."

I know that low, rumbly voice.

My heart rate slows, and my shoulders relax. Slowly, I drop the fireplace poker on the ground.

"Y-Your Highness? I thought you'd left. I didn't see a car…"

He continues skulking around the yard, and I see that he's hauling firewood from a small, covered structure at the far end of the clearing.

He doesn't explain himself, doesn't explain why he doesn't have a car or a bike. He says nothing at all, just continues to stoke the fire.

I approach, still feeling the hesitancy around stumbling upon a predator in the wild.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Gonna be a cold night," he says, pausing to watch the sparks surge skyward as his little fire grows.

"And that matters why?"

In the firelight, his eyes slide to me. The prince's gaze rakes down to my bare feet, pausing momentarily on my exposed belly button. His jaw working under that mass of beard, he lifts those gray eyes to my breasts.

I should cover up because he's not wrong. It's a chilly night, and despite the growing fire, my nipples are on the large side and visible through my Hello Kitty crop top.

"It doesn't. Just lighting a fire to keep warm."

It seems to take every ounce of strength in him to stop looking at my tits. I cross my arms over them, trying to decipher what he means. Why would an outdoor fire matter when it's toasty warm indoors?

Looking around at the ground, I see a sleeping mat has been laid out, as well as one of those cold-weather high-tech sleeping bags.

"Hey, Your Highness?"

"You may call me by my name."

"But you're the prince."'

"I'm third in line to the throne. I'm no one. Please call me Sigurd. Titles are not for me. I prefer it."

How did that make the prince seem twice as attractive? Ugh.

"So, Sigurd."

"Yes?"

"I see you have a whole set-up out here. You're not planning on sleeping outdoors, are you?"

"I am."

"That's crazy."

"I need to be alone. You're here. You will not be sleeping outside. Ergo, I sleep outside."

He needs to be alone, but he's still here?

Oh, so I'm the problem. I get it. I think.

"If you want me to go, I'll just go," I say. "There's no sense in you sleeping outside."

He doesn't answer for a full, eternal minute. My heart slams against my breastbone. Is he undecided? Does he want me to stay?

"You have to stay."

I say, "That's fair since I'm the renter and you're the trespasser."

His rough words almost run over mine before I finish. "You have to stay because I cannot let you leave to tell people my location."

This gives me pause. Why would a prince hide at a rustic cabin in the woods when he has an entire palace and staff at his disposal? True, he is the most shy of all the royal siblings. Yet, I understand the need to run away sometimes. So I tread lightly because he seems on edge.

"I would not tell a soul I saw you, Your Highness."

And, if we ever get around to talking about that tip, I'll gladly hand over what I have left if it will help him hide out a little longer.

Our eyes connect, and my hammering heart may burst out of my chest. I shiver visibly, but not from the cold.

Sigurd gestures with his chin toward the cabin. "You should go inside. Get warm."

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. And I'll find somewhere else to go in the morning."

"It'll be cold out here for you, too."

"Hence the fire," he says. Do I detect a note of sarcasm from the third prince?

I laugh. "You can't stay out here all night, Your Hi—Sigurd."

"I've camped out in far worse conditions than this." I quiver again as I feel his eyes travel over me, from the top of my head to the tips of my damp toes. "Far, far worse," he adds softly.

I swallow, knowing what I'm about to say might seem forward. "You can stay inside. You don't have to camp out."

"I like the outdoors."

"There's a sofa."

"It's wet," he reminds me.

Oh. Right. Embarrassment floods me at the recent memory of being pulled from the water.

"I can swim, you know."

"Not well enough. Next time, wear a life jacket."

"I tried it," I say. "It's uncomfortable around my chest."

He says nothing but takes one of the chopped logs at his feet and tosses it into the flames rather too forcefully. Sparks explode.

His stomach rumbles.

The coals at the base of the fire look hot enough for cooking, with the arrangement of the logs creating a perfect hole for smoking some campfire meat. That'll taste way better than on the stove, as I'd initially planned. I may not be outdoorsy, but there was that week when some other foster kids and I ran away and hid out at an abandoned trailer in the woods. We survived on campfire toast and the cheapest frankfurters we could find.

"I'll be right back, Sigurd. Don't go anywhere."

He huffs out a sharp, ironic laugh.

Did I amuse the prince?

I practically skip like a schoolgirl all the way back to the kitchen.