Royal Marriage Market (22 page)

Just before I make a total arse of myself by staring lusty holes through him, Christian wanders to the stairs leading up to the right side of the diving platform. “See you below?”

I snap out of my reverie long enough to nod and head toward the stairs on the left.

For all of his protestations, Christian is the gentleman I pegged him for that very first day. On the other side of the stairs, he’s turned away so I know he cannot see me stripping. And I return the favor, as I am certainly not going to be able to go through with anything tonight if all I do is gawk at his too perfect body. Once cold air kisses my bare skin, I wrap the towel around me.

“Ladies first?” he calls from the other side.

I take his dare. I climb up the stairs slowly, debating with each press of foot against mosaic if I am actually dreaming.

When I reach the top, I find Christian’s bare back facing me as he sits at the base of his side of the stairs. A hint of the curve of his buttocks is visible, and the sight of it overheats me. He might as well be one of the statues in this room, he’s too picturesque.

Christian and his damn too-ness.

What would he think of me if I climbed down his side and took my time as I traced the magnificent planes of such muscles?

“You okay?” he asks, head tilting just enough to the side that I jerk further into the diving platform area. “Would you prefer I go first?”
      

I assure him I am fine. I toss the towel back down below; it lands mere inches from the water’s edge. And then I jump.

chapter 31

Christian

I train my attention on a nearby statue as the sound of her feet climbing the stairs fills my ears, trying desperately not to fixate on how Elsa is naked. Thank goodness the water is ice cold, because I’m truly concerned she’ll notice how aroused I already am.

A splash sounds, and then a muffled scream followed by the start of soft giggling. I wish she’d just let go and allow herself to laugh. I mean, hell, we broke into a pool in the dead of night and there’s no one around. I paid off the security guard and his dog for the next hour or so. If she wants to laugh, there’s no reason she shouldn’t.

It’s a first I’m dying to experience: the first time she fully laughs in my presence. Although, to be honest, I worry the day she does so is the day I’m no longer able to control myself around her. Elsa laughing is probably one of the most erotic sounds in the entire universe.

Like I need another reason to find this woman desirable.

“Are you coming?” she calls out. It sounds as if her teeth are clattering together, making me anxious to get into there as fast as possible so I can warm her with my body.

I’m clearly a masochist.

I climb the stairs, willing my dick to calm down already. Because Els is in that pool, naked, and I’m going to be in there soon, too, and even though there will be thousands of gallons of water in between us, she and I will be naked together for the first time.

I reach the top of the diving platform and locate her across the pool, hanging onto the edge. Glimpses of her bare arse shimmer through the lamp-lit water as she faces the opposite direction, and bloody hell, if I thought I was hard before, it’s nothing compared to now.

When I jump, I marvel at how ironic it is that I’m literally falling.

She wasn’t kidding about the water. It’s fucking freezing, thank God. All the air is iced straight out of my chest when I surface, alongside my raging hormones. There could be an entire pool of naked lingerie models and I’d still be limp, because this is just as brutal as a polar plunge.

But then Els turns away from the wall and hits me with her smile. And miraculously, my dick twitches back to life, because now I have a brilliant glimpse of her breasts just below the water line.

“Cold, right?”

Not cold enough, apparently.

I swim over toward her, my teeth grinding together so I don’t say or do something unwise. I ensure to keep a proper amount of space between us when I grab the ledge.

She’s amused. And so bloody gorgeous I can barely handle it.

“How does it feel, having your cherry popped?” Please, God, let her assume the shakiness in my voice is due to the frigid water rather than how the sight of her is affecting me. It’s a dumb question I’ve just asked, asinine even, but I need to keep things the same between us, even if I’ve turned a corner I don’t know I can return from once we leave California.

“Cold.” There’s that laugh starter again that dies in the hush of the pool. “And like I am in a bath. A frightfully frigid, stinging bath.”

“Skinny-dipping not living up to the hype?”

The water around her swirls as she kicks below the surface. “Au contraire.” Her eyes meet mine, and in the lamplight, they’re the same blue as the water and glass tiles.

I’m lost to her, one hundred percent lost, and gladly so.

“And you?” she asks. “How does this compare to Lake Como?”

I have never, ever craved to kiss a woman more than in this moment. I’m freezing my arse off, we’ve broken into a historic landmark, and there’s a chance we could get caught, and all I want to do is just haul her in my arms and press my mouth against hers until we both forget our titles, followed by countless hours learning every centimeter of her body.

Better, I ought to tell her. So much better. Best skinny-dipping experience of my life. But what I say is, “Eh. It was Lake Como, you know?”

She splashes water at me. I splash it right back, earning myself an erotic gasp.

Bloody hell. I’m way over my head right now.

I dip below the surface, allowing the icy water to knock some sense into me. And then I push off against the wall and glide toward the other side, keeping my horny self underwater until I reach my destination.

I’d give almost everything I have to be able to turn back the clock and meet this woman anywhere but here. But I can’t. Our introduction came at the start of the bloody RMM, which is an automatic death knell for any relationship. Plus the She-Wolf appears dead set on me marrying her sister, and Elsa’s supposed to end up with Mat, even though that makes me want to rage uncontrollably.

I shove wet hair off my forehead and stare up at the ceiling. There is no way I can marry Isabelle. I’ll go insane. Family get-togethers would be torture. There has to be a way out of this. I cannot meet this woman and marry her damn sister!

Soft splashing sounds behind me. Elsa joins me on this side of the pool. And she leaves precious little space between our bodies, because when she kicks out in her efforts to tread, her toes connect with my leg.

She talks. Talks about . . . I have no idea. Things I want to hear, because they’re from her and everything little damn thing about Elsa is fascinating to me. Like how she’s got a pair of freckles just below her clavicle that resemble a bite mark. They’re so endearing I want to lightly graze them with my teeth, just enough to make her squirm.

I do my best to keep my eyes on hers, even as our bodies gravitate closer and closer until we’re mere millimeters away. A brush here, a nudge there, arms pressed together more often than not, and I’m dying a thousand and two deaths because I’m desperate to keep myself shifted just enough away from her that she doesn’t discover I’ve got the worst literal and figurative case of blue balls a man could ever have. But every so often, she glances away or closes her eyes as she talks, and my focus drifts down the smooth column of her neck to the hint of her breasts and deeper still.

I’m supposed to marry her sister.

“How are we going to do this?” she asks me.

My voice turns raspy. “Do what?”

“Get out of this pool. We’re going to catch hypothermia, you know.”

I can think of a very good way for the two of us to stay warm.

I jerk my head to the right, toward a set of marble steps leading out of the pool. “Or you can just swim into the shallow end and pull yourself out.”

I offer my back when she chooses the shallow end route. I close my eyes and tread water, forcing myself to think about the She-Wolf and paperwork and other unsavory things like marrying Isabelle or hell, even just touching Elsa’s sister. My teeth chatter uncontrollably; I fear my lips are blue. But I’m worried the woman behind me is worse off, because the sound of her teeth snapping together echoes throughout the room.

Hugging is proper, right? Friends hug. Hell, I saw her and Mat hug once (and for the love of all that’s good in the world, just let it be that once), and I’m pretty certain she doesn’t feel a damn thing for him. I could hug her. Get her warm before we head back into the main house. Find out what her body feels like in my arms.

I wait until she tells me it’s my turn. I dive down, reclaiming my shoe before doubling back to take the exit closest to where I left my towel and clothes. Elsa is off to one side, examining a statue as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Is it possible I’m the only one who feels this way?

I towel off and dress quickly before joining her, clutching the soggy shoe in my hand. Clothes stick to my body. All I want to do is touch her. Hold her.

“You okay?” My voice is hoarse.

She nods, stringy, wet hair slipping across her shoulders until it falls against her back. “Just cold.”

She looks more than cold. She looks heartbroken.

Fuck it. I give into my urge. I drop the shoe and towel and pull her into my arms. There’s a split second in which her limbs remain folded across her chest before they loosen to loop around me. And then she sighs. It’s not a sad sigh, or a resigned one. It’s one of relief, I think. Of bliss.

“Thank you,” she whispers into my sweater.

God, she feels amazing, like she was meant for me to hold and I for her. All of my self-control is required in order to not bend my head down and kiss her until she’s no longer cold.

“I know you have Lake Como,” she murmurs, “but as short as this was, I do believe it was the best introduction to skinny-dipping a lady could have.”

I close my eyes, my cheek pressing against her temple. If I could speak, I’d tell her I doubt I could ever skinny dip again without wishing it was here, with her.

chapter 32

Elsa

“No.”

“Pardon?”

I suck in a steadying breath and repeat, as clearly as one can while terrified they’re shooting themselves in the foot, “No.”

My father shifts in his chair, his fingers forming a steeple in front of his mouth as he studies me. From the phone sitting in his lap, set to speaker, my mother barks, “What did she just say?”

My hands lace tightly together in my lap to hide the burgeoning trembling threatening to wrack my entire body. “You’re asking me to marry somebody I—”

“Ah,” my father interrupts softly. “Herein lies the misunderstanding. I’m not asking, Elsa. I’m decreeing.”

And so he did, here on the morning of our last full day in California.
You will marry Mathieu. It will be done posthaste.

I dig deeper within my well to amass courage. “I do not love him.”
      
My mother’s voice hisses across the distance. “
Love him
?” she scoffs. “Are you a child or the future sovereign of Vattenguldia? What does love have to do with your duty to throne and family?”

My father is even blunter. “Your mother and I are not in love, and Vattenguldia is far more influential today than it has been in centuries. It is our duty to ensure this remains the case.”

My mother doesn’t even take offense with his assessment of their relationship.

      
“And yet, there is still work to be done to help Vattenguldia tap further into today’s world markets. Part of that is gaining a share of the
Chambéry
finances. You of all people know how we need more capital to expand our role in the shipping registry markets.”

“And increase our visibility in the world’s tourist market,” my mother quickly adds.

Normally, my mouth would be shut by now. Arguing is pointless, especially since my father has stiffened significantly, his eyes narrowing as the tendons in his neck strain. He is utterly serious about what’s been said, and from experience, I know that once he reaches this place in an argument, there is no more room for discussion.