Crowned By The Mountain Prince: An Arranged Marriage Romance Read online

  “So what practical and sentimental things did you pack, Dahlia?” he asks as he pulls on his uniform and I dress in the pajamas.

  “Well, I packed seeds that I hope to plant in a greenhouse, if there is one. And my sewing kit; I can’t leave home without that. Oh, and I brought essential oils, because I love to add them to the cleaning products I make.”

  “Cleaning products? Flower seeds? Who are you, Dahlia? Because you sound like a princess-imposter.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first to think that. My sisters always gave me the hardest time because I was more comfortable on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, or in the kitchen baking bread, than anywhere else.”

  Thomas smiles, nods. He’s once again considering me with such close attention it’s unnerving.

  “What?” I ask, shaking my head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I can’t quite figure you out. You look like a princess, exude the confidence of a princess. But then you speak about sewing kits? And I don’t know what to think. It reminds me that I don’t know you at all.”

  “Well, given the last few hours, I’d say you know me better than anyone in the entire world.”

  Thomas grins and leans over, giving me another long kiss. A kiss I want to remember.

  “That’s true, Princess. I did get to know you pretty well. And I wouldn’t mind learning more about you being on your hands and knees.”

  With Thomas gone to the car, I decide to poke around the kitchen, in the hopes of finding some food. My stomach rumbles. I realize I haven’t really eaten all day—besides the workout I just had in the bedroom, anyway.

  The fridge is bare, which is to be expected. If no one has been here for a while, it makes sense that there isn’t any food on the shelves besides random condiments: mustard, mayonnaise, and a near-empty bottle of ketchup. Along with some green olives past their prime and a carton of baking soda. There are a bunch of seasonings in the cupboard, but I don’t imagine we’re going to get by on spices and condiments.

  In the freezer, though, things are more promising. I find an unopened gallon of ice cream and make a mental note for later.

  But first, I need sustenance.

  In the pantry I find a bag of white rice and I immediately put water on to boil, knowing the rice will cook quickly. I find some canned vegetables—corn and green beans—and drain them before adding them to a saucepan on the stove. Since they’ll warm quickly, I set it to low. I stare at the boiling pot, knowing a man like Thomas is going to need more than just rice and veggies.

  I return to the freezer, hoping for some sort of meat product. I’m not picky—not about food, or really anything—so I figure I’ll make do with whatever I find.

  Of course I can’t help but smile when I see a flank steak tucked in the far reaches of the freezer—a freezer that needs a thorough defrosting, I might add.

  Turning on the hot water, I run the packaged steak underneath it, hoping to take the edge off. Then I turn on the oven, add some spices to the meat, and slide it into the warm oven.

  While everything is cooking, I set the table, grateful the fire is well-stoked and filling the cabin with a cozy warmth.

  Right before Thomas returns, I find a bottle of whiskey well-hidden in the pantry, and pour a tumbler for him, knowing he’ll need it after the icy walk he’s just had.

  When he walks into the kitchen, I feel proud of the meal I prepared for this man who makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.

  This man I wish I could have for more than just one night.

  Offering him the whiskey, I take a good look at him now, realizing he isn’t smiling the same way I am.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “It’s good news.”

  “How good? Because you look unhappy.”

  “Sounds like the storm isn’t as bad up there as we thought; someone’s coming for us.”

  The timer that I set for the steak goes off—signaling, it seems, more than the food being ready. I’m not ready for this magic to end.

  Thomas frowns. “Do you wish this could last a little longer?”

  “I do.”

  And I can’t help but think this isn’t fair. Reminding the both of us about AP, after prince, like that. Tomorrow, Thomas returns to being a bodyguard—which means he can’t be anything but a distant memory.

  12

  Well this whole thing is a motherfucking disaster.

  We can’t leave. Not now. Not when things are just getting good.

  But the reality is that Thomas is on his way down here in the morning with a crew and a tow truck.

  This fairy tale is about to end.

  “How much time do we have?” she asks.

  “We have the night,” I tell her, taking the whiskey she offers me. I take a long sip, then set it on the counter so I can take off my snow-covered boots.

  Sitting down at the table, I watch as she pulls a steak from the oven, slices it. She dishes up our plates, and appears completely at home.

  “Well, a whole night together is more than I expected to get,” she tells me, sitting down and pouring whiskey for herself.

  I grin. “I would not have pegged you as a whiskey girl.”

  “I’m full of surprises, Thomas.”

  “Are you?”

  “Maybe not.” She laughs, her eyes twinkling. She glows. “Honestly, I’m so relieved to be here with you. As bad as it sounds, I’m happy there was a snowstorm.”

  “Not ready to meet the prince, huh?” I pick up my knife and fork and begin to eat, not able to look at her while she answers.

  “I’m worried that I won’t be the right sort of woman for him.”

  “You don’t think you are?”

  “I know next to nothing about the man.” She shrugs, cutting her food into dainty bites. “You probably know lots of things about him, as his bodyguard. Can you give me some details?” She bites her bottom lip, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. That’d be weird to talk about him with me. Which is fine, because the truth is I’m fine avoiding him as long as possible. You know the tow truck coming tomorrow?” She smirks mischievously. “Let’s just flatten its tires when it arrives.”

  I nearly choke on my steak. Wanting to play it cool, I cough into my hand. Maybe I should just come clean.

  Instead, I ask, “Why do you want to avoid him?”

  “It’s just the royal thing in general. It’s off-putting.”

  “Aren’t you royalty?” I lower an eye at her. The woman I marry must be prepared to become the queen, and soon. My wife not wanting to be the Queen of Rochester would make my father roll in his grave.

  Not that he’s been buried yet.

  “Sure, I’m royalty,” she says. “But not like he’s used to. My father bankrupted our nation. He sold his daughters off to the highest bidders. I may have the title of Princess, but I was not bred to be Queen.”

  I rest my elbows on the table, my hand under my chin, watching her. “What were you bred for?”

  She laughs, takes a sip of the whiskey, pressing her hand to her throat as she does.

  “Hard to swallow?” I ask.

  “A little stiffer than rum punch.” She sets the glass down, her pinky raised.

  I smile, nodding, wanting her to continue.

  “I was bred for this,” she says, pointing to her plate. “I grew up without housekeepers or nannies or a private chef. My family was always stretched thin ... princess-paupers, honestly.”

  “I see. You prefer dishrags to diamond rings?”

  She smiles softly. “I’m still a woman. All women like diamonds, housekeepers or not. It’s more about what I’m comfortable doing, what I’m good at. I know how to polish silver, but sitting at a table adorned with gleaming dishes, being waited on hand and foot? It’s overwhelming.”

  She picks up her fork, lifting a bite of green beans to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I keep whining, going on and on about me. Tell me about you. What made you want to be a bodyguard for the royal family?�
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  I run my hand over my jaw. I want to be honest, especially since she’s been so vulnerable with me, but the last thing I want to do is push her away with the truth of who I am.

  I tell her the truth as best I can, using the details of my real bodyguard Thomas when necessary.

  “I was in the Royal Guard. Commissioned when I finished university. The royal family recruited me after I served alongside Lucas for two years. He was my commander.”

  That much is true. I genuinely did enlist after Uni, and I served as the real Thomas’s commander.

  “Do you like working at the palace? Or do you miss the Guard?”

  “I’m still in the Guard. Lucas trains daily with his unit, and will continue to do so until he becomes King. As his bodyguard, I’m a member of his unit.”

  She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it on top of her head and tying it up with an elastic on her wrist. Her bare neck is long and slender, and I can’t keep my eyes off her skin. My cock twitches as I imagine what I plan to do to her tonight.

  I move to adjust myself, and her eyes are locked on my cock.

  “So you’re a military man. That’s ... really hot.” She bites her finger, and with her other hand she unbuttons the top button of her pajamas.

  “Speaking of hot, do you need help out of that, Princess?”

  “Mmmhhmm.” She scoots her chair from the edge of the table, and unbuttons every last button, then pulls aside the fabric, revealing two very round, very delicious-looking breasts.

  “Sweetheart, you’re killing me.” I push away from the table, unable to restrain myself from taking her again. She made me a meal, served me whiskey, told me her fears, and opened up her fucking heart. She’s a gem, and I want her to know how hard I am for her.

  I step in front of her, and her hands are on my belt buckle in a matter of seconds.

  “Thomas, I want to taste you,” she whispers. “You filled my pussy, but now I need you in my mouth.”

  I lift her chin, my eyes on her. She presses her hand over my cock, which is restrained by the pants I wear. She traces the outline of my length, and I grow ever harder for her. Desperate, I run my hands over her tits, plucking at her nipples.

  “You’re gorgeous, Dahlia,” I tell her.

  She unbuttons my pants, and finds my cock ready to be sucked by my princess—but before she can release my desire, there’s a noise from the door.

  Her eyes lock on mine. Fear flashes between us.

  “Fuck,” I say, stepping away as a key turns the lock. I buckle my pants and Dahlia quickly buttons her pajamas.

  “Hello?” a man calls out, pulling open the front door. There’s a woman behind him. “Who’s here?”

  Shit. If he recognizes me, this gig will be up.

  13

  The moment an old man and his wife walk through the door of the cabin, it feels like all the air leaves my lungs.

  I wanted this time with Thomas to last forever, even thought I know that’s a ridiculous notion. I’m marrying the crown prince of Rochester. There’s no time to fall in love with his bodyguard.

  But still, the heart wants what it wants.

  In the space of a moment, when the older couple walk into this cabin that is clearly theirs, bundled in the most practical snow clothing I’ve ever seen—parkas and boots and gloves—I memorize everything about Thomas.

  His broad shoulders and blue eyes and scruffy beard. His gravelly voice and strong hands and steady heart. His face that looks like someone I’ve seen before, known forever—someone I’ll never forget.

  I memorize him, knowing that the magic this place held for us is gone. My fantasy came to life, but all good things must come to an end.

  Thomas looks uneasy, about more than the uncomfortable bulge in his pants. He turns, facing the couple, as they walk toward us, eyeing our empty dinner plates, the half-empty bottle of whiskey, the insignia on Thomas’s uniform.

  “The Royal Guard?” the woman asks. “Whatever is happening here? Is that your vehicle out on the road?” She’s wiry, silver-haired. She wags her finger, clearly wanting answers. “And how did you get into our chalet?”

  Thomas raises a hand, motioning to me. I step forward to greet them.

  Before I can introduce myself, the man speaks. “Oh, Gladys, stop your hooting and hollering. These kids clearly got stuck in the snow and needed a warm place to go. Now, son, tell me, you work for the King?”

  Thomas clears his throat, if I didn’t know better I’d say a look of relief washes over him.

  “Oh, shush, Reggie,” Gladys says, swatting her husband. “Do I know you? You look so familiar.” She presses a fingertip to her lips, eyeing Thomas closely.

  “I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, ma’am, but I am Thomas, the bodyguard for the Prince of Rochester, and this is Princess Dahlia—”

  “Oh, my word,” Gladys gasps, her hand over her mouth. Her body dips into a curtsy, awkward on account of her snow parka. “The Princess, here, in my winter home?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “See, Reggie, I knew coming up today was the right time.”

  Reggie cocks his head to Gladys. “She’s been asking me to drive the Sno-cat up all week. We love it up here this time of year.”

  “A Sno-cat?” Thomas asks. “Wish I’d had one of those today.” He explains the details of how we ended up here, and Gladys and Reggie nod. Apparently getting stuck in the mountains isn’t unexpected in Rochester. “So tomorrow a crew from the Royal Guard is coming with a tow truck, hoping the snow will have abated by then, so we can get this Princess to her wedding.”

  “The snow isn’t coming down as hard, and I’d take you to the palace tonight in the Sno-cat if it weren’t so dark,” Reggie says.

  “I understand,” Thomas says. “It wouldn’t be safe. I was able to radio the palace and they know we are somewhere safe for the time being.”

  “Tonight you’ll stay here. Princess, you can have the bed of course,” Gladys says, patting my arm.

  I look at the old woman and shake my head. “That would be absurd. I’m perfectly fine on the couch. You’re sleeping in your own bed with your husband.”

  Thomas looks relieved that I’m insisting they sleep in their own room.

  “What? I may be a Princess, but I’m also practical. You can tell your boss that,” I joke.

  He just smiles and says, “And I can sleep on the floor. We don’t want to put you out, especially after we broke into your home, ate your food, and drank your whiskey.”

  Reggie laughs at this, and mentions needing to get their bags from the Sno-cat.

  “If you insist,” Gladys says, winking. “But you must use the dry sauna. It’s the least I can offer.”

  “Sauna?” I ask, not having seen anything of the sort in this small one-bedroom get-away.

  “Yes, my dear. We have one right outside the cabin, on the back end. It’s an infrared sauna, perfect for frosty nights. And it will do wonders for your skin.”

  “I feel like I’ve already taken more of yours than is fair.” I look down at the pajamas I’m wearing, wondering if Thomas and I left any indications of our earlier romp in their bedroom.

  With an internal groan, I think of the used condoms in the trash. I need to bury everything because this evidence be could be held against me.

  Against the royal family.

  “Oh no, please help yourself, Princess.” At that Gladys stifles a yawn. “Reggie, dear, would you go get our bags? I’m positively exhausted.”

  Taking the opportunity to get Gladys away from the room so it can be emptied of our sexual evidence, I ask her to show me how to turn on the sauna.

  “I’ll just get my shoes,” I tell her as she walks to the back door, flipping on a light switch.

  Grabbing Thomas’s arm, I whisper, “You need to go empty the trash and straighten the pillows.”

  He grins broadly, not realizing how stressful this is.

  “And will you reward me, Princess?” he asks, patting
my bottom as I turn away. “For doing the dirty work?”

  Gladys is calling for me, so I just shake my head at his ridiculousness.

  But as I walk outside in the freezing cold, listening to Gladys explain how to turn the sauna on, I think about Thomas’s hand on my ass.

  I need to get him in this sauna, stat.

  14

  The moment Gladys and Dahlia step outside, I make quick work to tidy up the bedroom. I’m sweating by the time I’m done, not wanting Reggie to catch me poking around his bedroom. I fluff the pillows, straighten the quilt—grateful we never got under the covers—and grab Dahlia’s pile of discarded clothes.

  I cross into the bathroom and have just shoved handfuls of tissues in the trashcan under the sink, when I hear Reggie coming in.

  “You need a hand?” I ask him, wiping the back of my neck. Hell, Dahlia would be in a jam—and so would I—if anyone thought she was sleeping with a bodyguard before her royal wedding.

  It takes me a second to remember that no one would be in any trouble. I’m the prince—even though right now I can’t help but wish I were Thomas, a man who could give Dahlia the simple and quiet life she’s used to.

  Another part of me, though, is anxious to get her to the castle, so she can see just how big and beautiful of a life I can give her. I want her to understand that her gentle demeanor and undemanding personality are exactly what the country needs. They need a queen like her.

  I need a woman like her.

  Damn, she had me so hard—her hands on my cock, tempting me with her exposed breasts—before Reggie and Gladys showed up.

  I need to get her naked, and I can’t wait all night.

  “I’ve got it all here. We’re light packers, and since we come up here a few times a year, the cabin has most of the things we need.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “I guess you could grab the cooler. Got my darling’s cream for her morning coffee. Milk for oatmeal, too.”

  “I’m on it.” I encourage him to take a load off, have some of that whiskey. He nods, saying he’ll save some for me.