Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

WINTER

S tanding in the window, she’s surrounded by moonlight in a shirt of mine and some soft wool sweatpants that I accidentally washed and shrunk about ten sizes. She turns, still cinching them at the waist with the drawstring pulled tight, and gasps when she sees me watching her from the doorway.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” The way her hair cuts under her jaw makes me want to drag my fingertips up the expanse of her long neck, press my thumb into the divot in her top lip.

“It’s so quiet here. And with the snow, it feels like we’re getting buried alive in this little castle,” she says. “Frozen in a snow globe.”

After changing into sweatpants with what I thought was a matching hoodie, but is actually an old argyle sweater with a V-neck, I step back into my candlelit bedroom.

“So morbid, Bloom. And if I wasn’t secure in my manhood, I might take offense to your use of the term little .”

My intention is humor, but her face drops and her fingers pull at the too-long cuffs on my shirt, looking everywhere around the room except at me.

“Are you alright?” I ask. “Sure you’re not lightheaded? Maybe you need something to eat?”

“I’m just, I don’t know.” She wraps her arms around her middle, clutching at her elbows. “I’m not sure what I need, and I can’t think of a smartass retort to what you said. Honestly, I’m exhausted.”

I know what happened between us while I patched up her wounds has thrown her off guard. What happened between us in the woods the first day we filmed. What’s happened since in secret, stolen touches. And now she knows I spend my gold coins like Robin Hood, trying to help people who cross my path and need it. It’s not because I’m such a good guy, it’s simply because I can, and it’d be a sin not to.

But she doesn’t know how to act if she’s not sparring with me, that’s clear, and that makes two of us.

“Sure. Yeah.” I scrub my hands through my hair and drag my palms down my cheeks. “I just thought, that’s what we do. That’s how we talk. I didn’t mean anything?—”

“You think Annie made it okay? I’m worried about her.”

“She lives in a cottage by the barn, a little carriage house tricked out with her every desire. She made sure of it when she agreed to relocate with me years ago, didn’t want to let go of Danish culture, a true believer in hygge . She’s got a claw foot tub, baskets of her favorite knitting yarns, a tea assortment that would make all of England jealous, and she commandeered three of my favorite tabbies: Mr. Bingley, Ross, and Penny Lane. They used to be barn cats and now they eat cheese from her palm and get groomed at Dazzle Paws monthly. And I made her adopt one of Lola’s pups. I promise, she’s good and cozy under lumps of purring, panting, perfumed fur. We can check on her tomorrow.”

“Then, feed me, now.”

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you? Follow me.” When I look over my shoulder, moving down the hall candle in hand, she’s still favoring her ankle but following and I can’t quite tamp down my satisfaction at having her all to myself tonight. “And mind your step.”

We find more candles stuffed in an eighteenth-century buffet in the formal dining room. Embroidered draperies keep the whistling cold from breaching the old walls and I hope she feels it—the comfort, the warmth my ancestors built into the place. Every carving has a story: the flowers from Denmark’s springs, the dragon renderings taken from Viking ships in history books, textiles that tell the story of where I come from. I’ve only had Christmases here with Annie so all the lovingly placed holly, wreaths, ribbons, bows, and crystal snowflakes on a big tree in the living room are infused with good childhood memories.

Damn, I’m feeling nostalgic and I don’t even know why as I grab a pair of fresh tapers and stuff them into the antlers of silver, stag-shaped candlesticks.

She walks around with a box of matches, striking and lighting as if she were at home. A queen in a castle. I should have known she’d assimilate to any surroundings, to any problem, or circumstance. She always does. I’ve seen her adjust, defend, and take control in so many situations—since the night I met her in a club, since I saw her take control of an entire baseball stadium, since she’s wrangled a room of fame-hungry women and industry men, she’s a formidable force to be reckoned with.

She catches me staring and I quickly look away, focusing on the charcuterie I’m piece-mealing together in the kitchen off the living area. Olives, tapenade, some pretzels, a particularly stinky cheese I’m quite fond of, some chocolate-covered raisins, and an almost too crusty baguette that I found on the counter—probably staged for the last tour that came through.

I rummage through some cabinets and drawers until I find old metal kabob skewers, add them to a basket of crackers, and truck the whole thing into the living room so I can get a fire going.

“Are we eating in here?” she asks. “On the floor?”

“Are you averse to a carpet picnic?”

“No, it’s a little drafty down here,” she shivers.

The main floor of an old Viking chalet is maybe not as cozy as I thought it was, especially now that we’ve got no power. The rose-colored glasses I’ve got for this place might be to blame. “Not to worry. Lola, come.”

My girl is at my feet in a flash, panting and looking up at me with sweet brown eyes.

“She loves you,” Cat surmises.

“Sit.” I point Lola to Cat’s feet. “See, foot warmer and best friend. We’ve got plenty of firewood thanks to Logan. He keeps me stocked during the winter, and I know how to get this beast going.”

“It really is a beast,” she says, admiring the gargantuan stone fireplace.

“Built by hand.” I pat a fat chunk of river rock, shaking off the memory of facing off with Anker here only an hour ago. I’ll deal with him later. “My ancestors liked to stay warm.”

“It’s almost as tall as I am. Anker looked like an ant next to it. He was awful, by the way, to you. I wanted to punch his teeth out. And you know he’s lying.” She motions at me. “There’s no way your people hate you, not if they’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

I’ve experienced her anger, to be sure, but the fact she’s angry on my behalf does something to my gut that makes me feel like I’m way too high up and I might fall. I’ve only cried once, and of course, it was in front of Annie. It was the first time my parents came to visit after I moved here. They stayed three days and then left early one morning, a note on my mother’s royal stationery slipped under my door to say farewell.

“Let’s not talk about all that. I’ll get us some blankets.” I pad down the hall before I say something stupid. Something soft, and raw of my own, because I feel like I can do all those things with her .

By the time I get back from ransacking the closets, she’s inched close to a fire that’s matured to roaring and Lola has abandoned us for her dog bed.

Her face is glowing. In my room she was cut in moonlight, her features sharp and striking. But now her skin is golden, her cheeks dusted with a rosy shine. The tree Annie and I decorated nights before sits fat in a corner and the wreaths on the windows outside are covered in snow.

She looks up at me, locks of raven hair falling softly around her face before she tucks it behind both ears. “Well, you sharing the wealth, or what?”

I startle, because I’m staring. I’ve been staring, and because I’m enormously embarrassed at being caught, I dump the contents of my arms on her head.

“Winter! You ass!” She pushes her way out of all the blankets, a tiny fur avalanche she didn’t see coming. Lola groans at our antics and rolls over on her featherbed.

“You asked for it.”

“What is all this?” She’s tangled in a bundle of twinkle lights that must have been at the bottom of the box and jumps to her feet. Lola, to her credit, doesn’t move. She’s out like a lightbulb.

“Hold still.” A rumble of laughter builds in my chest, she’s gotten herself thoroughly tangled up in the lights in a matter of seconds. I pull her back to my front and wrap my arms around her as I struggle to get her untangled. “Pulling away is making it worse,” I whisper in her ear, letting my hands drag over her waist and her hips, taking a knee so I can untangle a knot at her feet.

She turns and braces her hands on my shoulders. “Sorry, my ankle’s still sore.”

“I’m glad it’s just a twist and not sprained. Though I’d be happy to carry you around the set next time we film, viewers would have a field day with that.” She pushes up on her toes, trying to step out of the lights, my thick socks I wear under my riding boots pulled up to her knees over the knit sweats I gave her. It should not be sexy. These are not sexy socks, they’re dirt brown.

Why is the sight of her in my socks turning me on?

“You are not carrying me around set, I’m fine. Where did you get all these lights?”

I shrug. “Forgot they were in the box. I can’t sleep at night and shop online buying things I don’t need like everyone else. Annie vetoed them because they blink and give her a headache.”

When I’ve untangled her feet and am confident she won’t fall, I rise to meet her face, tangling the lights still around our chests even more. She watches, letting her hands drag from my shoulders down my front. Breath catches in my throat when she fists her hands in my sweater as if she doesn’t want to let go.

I click a button, and multi-colored lights blink around us.

Her eyes are hooded, gazing at her hands as she holds me in place. I bite my tongue, afraid to say the wrong thing, waiting for I don’t know what, but she steps back, trying to pull free of the final strands around her upper body.

“You’re a menace,” she quips, but her words don’t match her actions. I don’t think she wanted to step away from me, not this time. “Are you trying to tie me up and take me to your dungeon? Death by twinkle lights?”

My eyes catch hers and I raise an eyebrow, pulling lightly on a strand wrapped around her back and making her stumble back to me.

“You like it. You like me,” I press, damn my fear. She needs to aknowledge what’s happening between us.

She high-steps like a pony, still favoring her ankle, but manages to extract herself from the knotted string and steps back again. Her breath is ragged as she stares at me in my living room.

Push and pull, fire and ice. I gather the lights that fall at my feet, dropping them back into the box.

“Relax, Bloom,” I soothe her as we sit in the nest of blankets and take in our bounty for the night. “You need to eat.” I gesture at our spread. “Limburger cheese, some nuts, crackers, raisins. And I’ve got this baguette that’s past its prime but I’m hoping we can toast it in the fire.” I rip off a piece and pierce it with my skewer, resting it over a flame. After a moment, I hand it to her.

She runs the warm bread over a hunk of cheese and takes a bite. “Yum,” is all she says.

“Good,” is my reply.

“You’re different tonight.” She meets my gaze and I do my best to give her my honest regard, no hiding, no jokes, and no smart comments.

“You are, too. I never thought I’d hear you admit a weakness. After all, you’re determined to be the strongest woman alive.”

Her chin tips up. “What weakness—oh, you mean when I said I’m tired?”

I nod.

To my surprise, her shoulders relax and she leans back against an ottoman behind her. “God, I am. I think I have been for a while now. Something about being forced to unplug here, I mean, I’m still having to deal with you and that’s been no walk in the park, but getting out of the grind, the constant posting, the tracking, worrying over things like algorithms and analytics. It’s been freeing.”

“Isn’t there another way? A way you can accomplish your goals without draining yourself?”

“Like a fancy benefactor to invest in all my clients?”

I smirk at that. Did I like showing off for her? Saving the day the only way I know how? A little. But when I looked at Beanie’s coffee, they did decent business with good foot traffic. I even had Holiday assess everything before I made the move. Cat doesn’t even know the details of making Liam’s movie. All the dudes in my crew invested. The people in our town have a way of supporting their own. And overpaying Brand Hub because I knew they needed it, well, that one was personal. I can admit that.

Finally, I shrug. There’s no defending my actions here. I’m guilty of all she’s said. And I’d do it again, because I like her. And it’s time she knows it. “Might as well jump out of the pot and into the oven?—”

“What?”

“What? I’m trying to tell you?—"

“No, the saying. You got it all wrong.” She swipes cheese from her bottom lip and sucks on her thumb. I hold in a whimper—my God, she’s gorgeous even in my old clothes with cheese on her chin. “It’s out of the frying pan and into the fire .”

“What the hell did I say?” I’m bewitched, that’s what this has to be. Cat Bloomfield has me under her spell, she’s turned the tables and now, I’m at her beck and call. I think I’d do just about anything to please her.

“I don’t know, something about a pot,” she laughs so hard she doubles over.

Bewitched by the snow and the near-perilous ride, the smell of pine invading my senses from all the garlands Annie has draped through the house. The roar of the fire lighting Cat up in front of me. Cat lighting me up inside when I thought I’d burnt out for good.

“Well, what I’m trying to say is, you’re right. I wanted to help, in my own twisted way,” I eat a bit of gooey cheese on toasted bread, pushing through the sudden urge to kiss her. “It makes me feel better. Like I’m in control. I can’t be used by people who only want me for the crown, if I’m the one making the deals.”

“Winter Larsen—what the hell?” she yells.

I can’t tell if she’s mad at me, or at herself. “What?”

“You are royally screwing with my brain right now!” While laughing, she pushes at both my shoulders. I’m not ready for it, and we tumble backward. Quite ungracefully.

“Oof.” My breath hitches as I catch her waist and brace her weight since she’s lost all balance, her hands grasp my upper arms as she hovers above me, hair falling in her face.

“Sorry,” she gasps, her laughter mingling now with mine .

Suddenly kissing her is the only thing on my mind. My body begs me to do it, my chest heaving as my hands grip her hips. I struggle to cut through the haze and make a clear decision. Maybe it wouldn’t ruin me. Maybe it would be like any other kiss.

Lies, Larsen. Pure lies.

Instead, I bench press her twice, grunting more than is necessary.

Shrieks and laughter fall from her lips, “Winter!” She weighs nothing compared to what I lift in the gym, and she’s soft, and she smells so good. “Stop!” she screams, but her face is lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Can’t, trying to break the mood because all I want to do is kiss you. I’m willing myself not to lower you all the way down. Not to settle you right between my?—”

“So do it.” Abruptly, I look up into her eyes.

She blinks above me, a small, challenging smile playing on her lips.

Slowly, I use every ounce of strength in my arms to lower her until her chest presses into mine. Her hips do exactly what I was fantasizing about, lock gently in place, notching into mine. “You are mesmerizing, you know that?” I say, using both hands to push the hair back from her face so I can take her in.

We fit so well. I knew we would .

“You are the surprise of a lifetime.” I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not but she brings her lips to mine, hesitates.

“Cat,” I whisper. “I want you.” She knows this, but I say it anyway. Encouraging her. “Kiss me.”

“Let’s pretend we’re in a little snow globe,” she murmurs, her gaze roaming my face as the fire crackles. “This can’t happen,” she continues, “Just so you know, this isn’t happening. I’ll deny everything if Marco finds out.” She closes her eyes and lightly dusts her lips over mine. Testing. Grazing.

I hold very still and let her do with me what she will.

But I can’t hold my composure long. The weight of her body on mine is too much, the brush of her lips against mine—it’s too right. My hands flex in her hair as a groan escapes me, turning her head so I can get the angle I’ve been desperate for, and I kiss her deeply in return for taking a chance on me.

Her lips open and she lets me in. Our tongues mingle and test, and then take. “Cat,” I breathe her name like I’m about to suffocate with need. Our kiss is a crash. It’s pent-up frustration, it’s want, and I can’t get enough as I growl her name into her mouth again.

“I know,” she says back, letting me kiss down her neck as my hands grip her hips, then her ribcage, my palms grazing the sides of her breasts.

“It’s so good,” I say, when her hot mouth finds my neck, too. She kisses sweetly across my collarbone, and it’s bliss experiencing this soft side of her. Instinct causes me to flex my hips, and her thighs press wider, opening for me.

“Wait, Winter, we can’t do this.” She pops up. The soft heat of her mouth gone in a flash and way too soon.

“Why the hell not?” I demand, sitting up on my elbows. She’s still straddling me but I don’t hold her in place, I think it’d make her freak out more. No, she needs to be in control right now.

But we both want this, of that I’m sure.

“Forget it happened,” she stammers, bringing her fingers to her swollen lips and breathing hard. “I thought it could just be once. A quick thing to get out of our systems.” The words tumble from her, but she stays put in my lap. She doesn’t want to stop any more than I do.

My resolve crumbles and I grip her thighs. “Don’t disappear on me.” She’s only just begining to let me in.

“We have to stop.”

The last thing I want this woman to do is shut down, and I will myself to stop getting hard beneath her. “Is that really what you want?”

“No. But that’s what has to happen. There’s an entire show dedicated to finding you a wife. My job is to get you to the finish line.”

Fuck. My hands are itching to be all over her because, no, I don’t think I can ignore how much I want her any longer.

She considers me as she pushes off my lap and I let her go.

With the fire at her back, she pulls her knees into her chest. “You’re nothing like who I thought you were, Winter Larsen.” She’s still breathing heavily, smiling despite the fact neither of us are satisfied, “Are you?”

She touches her lips as if she can’t believe she let me thoroughly kiss them seconds ago.

She’s asking me to confirm it, looking into my eyes now. I know I keep most people at arm’s length. The only people who’ve seen the real me are the men I call brothers, and Annie, and sometimes I even feel I have to perform for them. It’s a monumental task, to always have a smile, a quip, a joke and a dashing retort to keep people on your side. To make sure they like you.

But Cat hated me from the beginning and because of that, I’ve never felt that pressure with her. I wasn’t trying to win her over in the beginning, nor was she trying to charm me. Somehow I think we’ve accidentally done both.

“No, I’m not. And I don’t want this to stop. I don’t care about the show. I care about you.” The truth is what I give her.

She reaches across blankets and pillows and pushes a lock of hair from my forehead. Her words echo in my mind, when we were covered in snow and first realized we were stranded here: I don’t need anyone to take care of me.

“You hide a lot from people, don’t you?” She lets her hand slide to my cheek.

I think she needs me to be vulnerable, and hopefully, that helps her feel safe enough to do the same. “Yes.”

“Since you were a kid?”

I lean into her touch. “Yes.”

“That’s . . . sad. ”

“Come here,” I pull her toward me, and to my surprise, she lets me. It’s as if she’s removed a sandbag from my chest as I let out a long pent-up sigh. We recline back. I stretch an arm under my head, the other under hers, and gaze at the beams in the ceiling. “Yes, it is sad.”

Her hand snakes over my middle and I startle as she leans into me. “Winter?”

I meet her gaze. “Yes, sod bloomst ?” She gives me a quizzical look. “What did you just say?”

“Don’t ask, it just slipped. Like your lips just now. I hope you slip again, Bloom.”

She swallows a scoff. “Don’t count on it. And, I’m not what you think I am, either.”

I know.

Gold flecks shine in her eyes and I try to count them as I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, lightly dragging my thumb across high cheekbones. I’m dying to pull her closer, for her lips to meet mine again. “What are we going to do about this?”

Her gaze roams my features in return, on the edge of a thought I wish I was privy to.

She has a strong nose, delicate chin, and smoldering eyes. A thousand flecks of gold.

I lie still, giving her all the control as she watches me watch her, neither of us trying to hide the fact we’re both memorizing features, breathing heavy, weighing our options and the turn we’ve taken. This snow globe could break any minute.

“Like I said, nothing can happen between us.” She moves away on cue, fluffing a pillow beside me, pulling blankets around us in our little nest.

“Something is already happening between us, Cat. But I can wait until you’re ready to deal with it.”

“Winter.” She eyes me shrewdly, that pretty face gearing up for a debate, no doubt.

“You know I’m right. ”

“Fine. Let’s talk about us . . . another time.”

It’s not a no. I turn on my side and she does the same. We’re almost nose to nose.

“You are a comfort I’ve never known.” The words spill from my lips and she grasps my hand and laces her fingers with mine in return.

“Yeah, I feel that, too.” It’s a small step, a hint of trust. Loads of truths and understanding, unlike anything I’ve experienced.

She yawns, and my chest tightens with emotion as I bring our intertwined hands up and graze her knuckles with my lips, something like longing tugging at my heart.

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Tell me a story about your home, about when you were a little prince. I’d love to see Denmark someday.”

“Your wish is my command.”