I curse my mouth, which operates on its own sometimes. When Erik stops a few feet away and picks up a bottle of liquor, I raise my brows.
He uncaps it and takes a long pull, letting out a gasping sound when he’s done. He turns back to me, holding the bottle out to me.
“Whiskey?”
A breeze blows, making me shiver as I jog the couple of steps toward him, taking the bottle from his hand. He casts another glance at me as I uncork the bottle.
“You should be inside,” he murmurs. “Where it’s warm and safe.”
I take a sip of the whiskey and wince as it burns its way down my esophagus. It’s half a minute before I can speak. “Safe? Safe from what?”
Erik looks at me, smirking a little and shrugging. “I don’t know. Give me the bottle back, little girl.”
I narrow my eyes at him, handing it over. Our fingers brush, our gazes collide. His serious eyes are shadowed so I can’t read his expression exactly, but for a split-second I swear there is a carnal interest there.
That, or I’m just imagining what I want to see.
Erik’s eyes dart away. He takes another long slug from the bottle. Then he pulls a face. “This whiskey is bullshit.”
I wipe a couple of drops from the corner of my mouth, not really knowing how to respond. I’m nineteen; it’s not like I have a ton of whiskey tasting experience.
“It’s better than some,” I come up with at last.
He eyes me skeptically. “Ja. It will get you drunk, which I guess is what counts.”
I study him. “Are you? Drunk, I mean.”
He turns to stare stonily out at the waves. “Maybe.” He squints. “I’m on vacation. I almost never get to relax.”
He sounds defensive. I shrug my shoulders.
“I’m not judging. I was just curious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”
He looks at me again, screwing his handsome face up. “Ja, okay.”
When he offers me the bottle again, I shake my head. “No. I like champagne, not whiskey.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Suit yourself.” Tipping his head back, he drinks.
I watch his neck as he gulps the liquor down. I notice his lips then, looking plump and perfectly kissable. Licking my own lips, I let my gaze wander down his body. His arms are both bare and impressively muscular. I can see a hint of the definition of his abs in his tight white t-shirt.
Before I realize it, words are leaving my mouth. “I changed my mind. I want some.”
Erik raises his brow. “All right.”
He takes a step toward me, handing me the bottle. I let the bottle drop to the ground, putting my arms around his neck. He gives me a startled look.
“Wait— “
I am too close to finding out what his lips taste like to stop now. I push up on my tiptoes and press my mouth against his, hesitating once my lips touch his. He seems frozen for a second, his brain taking a moment to catch up to reality. His eyes sink closed.
Then his hands find my lower back, drawing me against the firmness of his body. At the same time Erik deepens the kiss. No more peck on the mouth; his kiss is rough and dominant, his lips working against mine.
I open my mouth to him, and he takes every inch I give him, sweeping his tongue inside my mouth like a man staking his claim on unchartered territory for the very first time.
A rugged rumble leaves his chest. If I weren’t kissing him, I would have missed it. But it spurs me on, makes me spear my hands into the back of his short flaxen hair.
That’s all it takes to make him push me back a step. His eyes fly open, shocked.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “Oh, fuck. That… that should not have happened.”
My cheeks go pink. “Erik— “
He shakes his head, cutting me off. “No, no, no. That… I mean, you’re barely nineteen! You’re my best friend’s baby sister.”
I shrug. “So?”
He looks horrified. “So? So, your brother will kill me if he ever finds out. It doesn’t matter that I’m drunk…”
I bite my lower lip, looking at him. “I won’t tell. It’ll be just between us.”
Erik shakes his head. “This is bad. This… this can’t happen again.”
And with that, he picks up the whiskey bottle and starts a slow jog back to our beach house. I stare after him, touching my still-warm lips with my fingers.
Despite everything that Erik just said, my lips still curve upward.
I stand amongst the sand dunes, as the moon comes out to light the night with its soft glow. It’s my only comfort as I watch Erik’s figure walk away.
6
Erik
Annika is the devil. That’s the simplest explanation for the torture that she’s been inflicting on me.
That kiss… that brief moment where I lost control and just took what I wanted from her. Her soft lips hot against mine, a little hesitant once they brushed my suddenly sensitive skin.
Fuck.
My hands clenched as they slid around her waist. My cock instantly hardened. She made this sound… this soft moan… And she tasted like cotton candy with whiskey overlaid, somehow at the same time.
It doesn’t get much more erotic than that. I guess I can’t let my guard down around Annika… although she found me at the beach while I was drinking.
She kissed me.
I just shouldn’t have liked it so fucking much. What in the hell is wrong with me?
Two days later when I’m stonily staring at my little desk in my bleak little office, I’m still thinking about it. I can still feel the weight of her in my hands.
This… this insanity… has to stop. A young brunette from the royal press office pokes her head into my office and I sit up straight as an arrow.
“Haj,” she says. “I have your altered schedule here.”
She holds a sheaf of paper out toward me and I beckon her forward. “I’ll take it now. Thanks.”
She hands me the schedule. I leaf through it, a sigh on my lips. Every single engagement that I set up for Stellan is now wiped clean from my schedule. Even the things that I personally lobbied for, like a meeting with the local high school students interested in technology.
Gone.
What a bunch of bullshit. Instead my schedule now contains more galas and soirees, plus luncheons for Annika’s preferred charities. It looks like she has a lot of art museums and a ton of meetings with fashion designers on her upcoming schedule. Great, two things I couldn’t give a quarter of a fuck about.
Rereading the first page, I check my watch. Shit, if I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late. I don’t even know where I should meet Annika to leave for this luncheon.
Grabbing my dark wool suit jacket, I put it on as I rush upstairs to Annika’s quarters. When she returned from boarding school last year, it was decided that Annika was too young to live on her own. So, she’s still on the top floor of the palace, in a suite of rooms that would be otherwise unoccupied.
I head up the staircase and down a hallway which is a perfect replica of Stellan’s hallway, except done in hushed royal navy tones. Dark blue carpet, soft blue drapes, demure blue upholstered chairs at ten-foot intervals. The walls are hung with the same gilded mirrors and paintings of long-past relatives.