🌹🌹The Swedish Prince 🌹🌹
🌸🌸(ROYAL r0m@nç£) 🌸🌸
🌹Chapter 5🌹
Maggie’s POV
There’s something about this man’s shape maybe even his vibe, that calls out to me.
Impossibly broad shoulders. Long legs tucked un-der the stool. Only the nape of his tanned n£¢k expo-sed along with his shiny, golden-brown hair, his face buried by his arms. He’s a big guy, a guy that’s not from here, well over six feet tall and…
Oh my god.
“Oh my god, I think that’s him.”
“What?” Annette asks.
I stare at her with my mouth agape, noting the look of suspicion on her face. “I think that’s him.”
“Him who?”
“The guy. The n-ked guy.”
“Mr. Magic d!¢k?”
I roll my eyes and lower my voice, my b©dy somehow lowering against the table as I speak. “I didn’t say it was magic, just that it was large.”
“Same thing, sweetheart” She says.
I look back at the guy pas-sed out at the bar and this time it’s all cl!çk!ng into place. This is him. I’ve seen him n-ked, I can recognize him clothed.
What the hell is going on? What are the odds that I’d see him here, tonight?
Well, actually they’re pretty good since Tehachapi doesn’t have a thriving nightlife scene.
“You’d think a man of his size and I mean his height, get your mind out of the gutter, would be able to handle his liquor a little better” Annette comments and as she does so my eyes drift up to meet the bartender’s.
She’s someone I went to school with, two years younger, and though I don’t really know her she’s looking at me pleadingly, like she nee-ds help.
I should probably stay in my seat but something is compelling me to check out this situation a little closer. Probably because this stranger has made his second appearance in my life and once again it’s in a state of vulnerability.
Not that he seemed overly vulnerable when I saw him n-ked, actually it was more like he was owning the moment.
Yet, here, I feel like I nee-d to do something, like I’m the one who’s responsible for his as-s. His very firm, gorgeous as-s.
Maggie snap out of it.
“I’ll get you another beer,” I tell Annette as I get up.
“Uh uh,” she says. “Make sure you get yourself something too.”
I’m driving so one glas-s of wine is my limit.
I make my way over to the bar, smiling at the bartender. “Could I get another Bud Light?” I ask her before sneaking a glance at the guy.
Now that I’m closer to him, I feel a rush of energy run throu-gh me a feeling that takes me by surprise, like every nerve in my b©dy is alive and dancing.
“Sure,” the bartender says then glances at him warily. “Do you know him?”
“He’s staying at the h0tel I work at, that’s all I know,” I admit. Well, that and the fact that he looks fantastic n-ked. “I’m guessing he had too much to drink?”
She shrugs as she gets me the beer. “I guess so. When he c@m£ in here he seemed fine. Ordered a glas-s of vodka on the rocks and that was it. Next thing I knew he was just fv¢king pas-sing out right there. I’ve shaken him a few times but he just gro-an s.”
Hmmm. A little concerning. “He didn’t talk to you about anything?”
“No” she says, sliding the beer my way.
“Asked for the drink and that’s all. Definitely not from here though. Has an accent. Scandinavian for sure, which makes it weirder. I spent a few weeks in Sweden and Norway last year and let me tell you, those people can handle their liquor. This guy, not so much.”
A customer appears at the other end of the bar, getting the bartender’s attention and leaving me alone with the drun!ken Scandinavian mystery man.
I should get this beer right back to Annette who is watching me expectantly, but I take a few extra seconds to take him in.
My eyes slowly absorb all his details. The gleam of his hair, bronze and gold intertwined with the rich brown, just long enough that you could give it a good tug, to slide like silk throu-gh my f!ngers.
The nape of his n£¢k, lightly tanned with fine blonde hairs, a sp©t that seems achingly expo-sed and secretly s-en-sitive, that disappears into the collar of his black leather jacket.
It fits his broad shoulders like a glove, the leather seeming both soft and well-crafted. As my attention drifts down to his dark gray jeans and boots, I’m realizing how well-tailored and expensive all of his clothes look.
He doesn’t seem like the type of person who would stay at La Quinta for fun. Someone better suited for the fancier h0tels and places. A businessman.
But what business could he be in?
p©rn. With that d!¢k, it’s gotta be p©rn.
“Hey,” I find myself saying softly, reaching over to nudge his arm with my elbow. A low rumble emits from him but he doesn’t move.
“So I’m the girl who walked in on you n-ked earlier today and I just wanted to apologize. It wasn’t intentional.” I pause, aware that there’s a chance he might be listening, also aware that Annette is still staring at me questioningly from across the bar.
“To clarify, this happened at the h0tel. I was the maid and you were, well, you were walking out of the bathroom totally n-ked. I guess you didn’t hear me. Why were you listening to music anyway? What music was so important that you had to stick in your earbuds and strut around like you were at home? Speaking of home, where the hell are you from?”
I stare at him for a few more minutes, watching his back rise and fall. Finally, he makes a breathless sound and he moves his head back and forth until it settles with the side of his face tilted toward me, eyes closed.
I’m struck by the intim-acy of the moment, dazzled by how gorgeous he looks up close. It was ha-rd to focus on his face earlier for obvious reasons, but now I feel like I can really drink him in.
Though his jaw is strong and wi-de and dusted with stubble, there’s something almost innocent about the way he looks.
Maybe everyone looks this sweet when they sleep but his eyelashes are definitely enviable and his fulll-ips seem curled into a soft smile, contrasting with the hollowness beneath his sharp cheekbones.
Even fully clothed and pas-sed out drun!kon a bar, he’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
“Guess I’ll be calling the cops later,” the bartender says with a sigh, breaking the spell as she comes over to me and stares at the slee-ping giant with disdain.
“Why? What did he do?”
She folds her arms and gives me the are you kidding me look. Suddenly I know what April is going to look like when she’s older. “The guy is hvge. And I might be tougher than I look but I’m not about to drag his as-s out of here by myself at the end of the night.”
“But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” I say feebly.
“If you want to take care of him, be my guest,” she says before turning her back to me.
I take another glance of him and head back over to Annette.
“What on Earth were you doing?” she asks as she snatches the beer out of my hand. “That wasn’t just getting me a beer.”
I shrug and slide into my seat across from her. “I don’t know, I wanted to see what the situation was.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know. He’s drun!k.”
“I can see that.”
“But something doesn’t fit here,” I tell her, j£rking my chin toward him. “The bartender says he had one drink and it was lights out. Plus, she says he’s all Scandinavian and $h!t and probably drinks vodka for breakfast. Then there’s the fact that he’s rich.”
She c0cks her penciled brow at me. This has her attention. “Rich?”
“His clothes are expensive, he’s well-put together.”
“And so what’s a rich man doing in Tehachapi?”
I shrug. That p@rt has me stumped. “I don’t know. Pas-sing throu-gh maybe.”
“And Scandinavian?”
“That’s what the bartender thinks. Swedish or Danish or something.”
She purses herl-ips and looks me over.
“What?” I ask, automatically feeling defensive over the way she’s looking at me.
“You’re taking far too much interest in this person.”
I frown. “Earlier you were talking about his magic d!¢k.”
“I didn’t expect to see him here. Honey, I’m just looking out for you. Don’t get involved with someone staying at your h0tel.”
“How am I involved?” I ask incredulously, throwing my arms out for equal measure. “I’m a concerned citizen.”
She shrugs and settles back in her seat, the bottle at her mouth. “He’s none of your concern and you’ve always been one to go out of your way to help people but honestly, you’re alre-ady spre-ading yourself too thin.” She pauses and then says. “Did I tell you what Hank said?”
Hank is her soon-to-be ex-husband and he’s never not saying or doing something. She launches into the latest tirade which I make myself listen to. I know she nee-ds a friend and an ear as much as I do.
But my eyes are almost always finding their way back to the drun!kforeign dude. I find myself wondering how he got so drun!k–someone that tall and well-built isn’t a lightweight–then why he’s here in Tehachapi with his Scandinavian accent and pricey clothes. And, yeah, my mind keeps bringing up the image of him n-ked. Over and over again.
Maybe it’s the sob story or the fact that neither I nor Annette have been out in a while, but she has more beer and I end up having another glas-s of wine that she so graciously bought for me. By the time we’re re-ady to go, the bar looks close to closing.
I’d been keeping an eye on the guy all night. He didn’t move at all. Now it looks like he has to and the bartender is shaking him awake while shooting me a worried look, as if it’s also my problem now.
“Can you take him back to the h0tel?” she shouts across the room at us as we’re heading to the door. “Or I’ll call the cops to give him a lift.” It almost sounds like she’s threatening me, like the fact that I’d met the guy earlier in the day meant that he was somehow mine.
Annette snorts. “Honey, this ain’t our problem. We don’t know him.”
🌹Chapter 6🌹
Maggie’s POV
“And he’s not my problem either,” she says.
The man grumbles something in a foreign language and for the first time actually sits up in his chair, waving the bartenders arm away.
Annette takes a step backward while I stare at him in surprise.
“I’m calling the cops if you don’t get your as-s out of here!” the bartender rallies at him, sounding tough though her voice is shaking.
The guy can ba-rely open his eyes, but he seems to un-derstand.
He slurs more foreign words, most of which I think are swears, and tries to get to his feet.
Then he sways unsteadily and without thinking I rush over to him, my hands going to his che-st to push him back and keep him upright.
It’s like trying to keep a redwood tree from falling over and yet somehow it works and he slumps back onto the chair. If he truly was deadweight, I would have been crushed.
“We’ll take him,” I say, my heart racing at my proximity to him, the crazy strength I just pu-ll-ed out of me.
I’m surprised I said it.
So is Annette.
She reaches out and gr-abs my arm, pu-lling me away from him. “What the hell is wrong with you? We’ll take him? He’s not a dog you adopt from a shelter, Maggie.”
“Good luck,” the bartender mutters, walking back down the bar with such flourish like a teacher pas-sing off an unruly kid to its parents.
Now I’m committed.
To what, I don’t know.
I wave my arm at him. His eyes are still closed, chin keeps di-pping down into his che-st. His che-st. ha-rd as cement. I can’t believe I was just pressing my hands into it moments ago.
He didn’t even smell like alcohol, just something musky and woodsy, cozy and comforting.
“We can’t leave him here,” I tell her.
“Yes we can,” Annette says, looking around the bar for someone else to save us from this situation but we’re the last ones in here.
“It’s not your problem. It’s definitely not my problem. Let the girl call the cops, they can deal with him.”
It’s definitely the easier, saner option. I can’t say why I feel like I have to be this stranger’s knight in shining armor tonight, but I do. “Either you help me get him to the h0tel or I do it alone.”
Annette stares at me.
I stare right back at her.
I’ve made up my mind.
Finally, she sighs, rolls her eyes, and taps her pink nails along her arms. “Fine. But I’m trying to think like your mother. She would not approve of this.”
“My mother would be proud that I’m going out of my way to help a stranger, that’s exactly the kind of thing she would do.” Her comment has me on edge, defensive. My mother was always the one to come to someone’s aid.
“Well now I’m worried you’re dazzled by his d!¢k and not thinking straight” she says.
“Shhhh” I tell her sharply, looking over at the guy to see if he heard.
I can’t tell. It does look like he’s about to slide off the bar stool at any moment.
She sighs again. “Okay, let’s go. You take one side, I take the other.”
We flank him on both sides, I lift his arm up over my shoulder, pressing my f!ngersinto his che-st again and give Annette a nod.
With a gro-an , we both pu-ll the guy up to his feet. It’s not easy given that he’s over a foot taller than I am but he’s somewhat supported.
Luckily I’m parked by the entrance and working together in unison we manage to walk the guy outside, even though he almost takes a tumble once or twice, nearly bringing us down with him.
We get him into the backseat of the van where he immediately coll@pses and then I drive us off toward the h0tel.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Annette says in a low voice, shaking her head as she watches the streetlights pas-s by. “You haven’t even thought this throu-gh. How are you going to get him to his room? You going to go throu-gh his pockets for a room key?”
“I’ll use my housekeeper card.”
“What if someone from your work sees you?”
Hmmmm.
Maybe I haven’t thought this throu-gh.
“I’ll be sneaky.”
“No, we will try and be sneaky and try is the operative word because it’s not going to work because clearly you’ve never lugged around Andre the Giant before. You’re going to get caught. Then what?”
I give a half-hearted shrug. “Tell them the truth?”
“Won’t it look like you’re slee-ping with the guests or something? Don’t you have a no fraternizing rule?”
“Not on paper,” I say slowly though now I am remembering when I was in high school, one of the housekeepers got caught having S-x with someone in the h0tel room and she was fired. I think she tried to pas-s him off as a b©yfri£ndbut it was clear that he was just a guest and they didn’t really know each other.
$h!t.
Getting fired is the last thing I nee-d, let alone having rumors fly about me slee-ping with the guests.
“I say we just pu-ll up to the h0tel, slide open the door and kick him out,” she says. “He’ll roll down the hill toward the h0tel. Piece of cake.”
“Like we’re dumping a dead b©dy?” I cry out softly, mouth agape.
She throws her hands up. “Well, honey, I don’t know.”
I sigh and quic-kly pu-ll a U-turn in the middle of the road. Luckily it’s late and pretty much deserted.
“Where are you going?” Annette asks, looking around wildly.
“Taking him to your house.”
“My house?” she skrie-ks which makes the stranger in the backseat stir and yell something that I’m still certain isn’t English before he pas-ses out again.
I eye him in the rearview mirror, wondering if I’ve made a colossal mistake, I mean what if he realizes where he is and starts freaking out while I’m driving? I don’t know this guy, I don’t know how he reacts. Suddenly I imagine us re-enacting that scene from Tommy Boy when the deer wakes up in the back of the car.
All the better to drop him off at Annette’s.
“Yes, your house” I repeat.
“No way. No. Nope. Maggie, I have spies.”
“Spies?”
“Hank still comes by unannounced. We’re still in divorce proceedings. The neighbors are on his side. What will it look like if I bring some guy home?”
“You’re not doing anything wrong…”
She just stares at me with devil eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any chances, especially not for someone I don’t know.”
I sigh, my hands squee-zing the steering wheel. She’s right. I don’t want to get her in trouble and I don’t want this to hurt her divorce in anyway. People can be vicious here.
At the same time, I can’t take him to the h0tel. It will look wrong and I’ll get in $h!t, I just know it.
And I don’t feel right about getting him put in a drun!ktank either.
I exhale again noisily, knowing what I’m about to do.
“What?” Annette says, frowning at me.
“I’m taking him home.”
“Maggie.”
“I’ll put him in mom and dad’s room,” I tell her. “He can sober up.”
“Maggie,” she says again, voice sharper now. “No. You don’t know this guy. You can’t bring him in your house. Not with your brothers and sisters there.”
I know she has a point. “They’re all asleep right now. I’ll tell Pike about it, Pike is big enough to handle him.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Annette. It’s happening. Now do you want me to drop you off first?”
“Oh, like I’m letting you do this on your own.”
“Look, we’ll get out his wallet and you can keep it as collateral or something. Just in case something goes wrong.”
She stares at me and I know she’s wondering what the hell is going on in my head. I don’t know. Lately I feel like I’m knowing who I am less and less, so maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that I’m acting out of character.
Or maybe this is my character now. Maybe I’m so starved for something different and new that I’m willing to haul a drun!kguy to my house and use my parent’s old be-droom as a drun!ktank.
“I should stay the night,” she says.
“It won’t be a problem” I tell her.
“Famous last words.”
Five minutes later I’m pu-lling the van outside of the house. I peer up at it throu-gh the windshield. The lights are all off except for the lamp in the foyer and Pike’s room. We run a really ti-ght sh!pwhen it comes to the electric bill, so lights out really means it’s lights out.
“This is ridiculous, you know that,” Annette says as she gets out.
“I know.”
Being as quiet as possible we slide open the van door and manage to get him out and into the house.
We whisper to each other as we attempt to get him up the stairs, trying to keep our voices down even though at one point the dude tilts to the left and nearly flattens me against the wall.
It would almost be comical if it wasn’t such ha-rd work. It would be even S-xy un-der any other circu-mtance.
Finally, we get to the second floor and stagger down the hallway and around the corner to my parent’s old be-droom. I open the door and quic-kly fli-ck on the light.
I don’t come in here very often. It’s like a tomb in some ways, the curtains are usually closed and everything is as it was before they died. None of us have the heart or the nerve to move things around much. I know the be-d linens have been changed because we’ve had guests over and I’ve occasionally come in here to dust, but I don’t spend much time. The memories still hurts.
Even now it feels like their ghosts are in the walls, shadows in the dark. Loving ghosts, but ghosts all the same. Reminders of lives that once were, a love I’d do anything to have back.
I swallow ha-rd and bring my focus back to the guy as we get him backward onto the be-d where he falls like a sawn tree, ma-king the be-d shake from the impact of his large frame.
🌸TBC🌸……………………