Page 2 of Prince Cheating Charming

Maurice was having me taste-test multiple spoonfuls of cream when Prince Alexander entered the room.

I gulped, hastily wiping cream off my mouth and face as I watched him approach.

And I was gone.

The prince was so tall, towering over me, his body strong and lean, with broad shoulders and corded muscles. He looked sun-kissed and sun-tousled, with wavy golden blonde hair that curled attractively over his collar. There were a few buttons open on his shirt, showing a strong tanned throat. I felt myself convulsively swallowing. This trip was a complete waste of time. There was no way a prince who looked like that was going to be interested in me.

“Do my kitchens pass inspection?” Alexander asked, smiling at me.

I felt my body begin to tingle. He was so close to me that I had to repress an insane desire to reach out my hand and just run it down his arm where his shirt was rolled up to his elbows. I had never had such a strong physical reaction to a man before, but everything about him made my body pump out waves of pure, elemental lust. My skin felt tight, stretched, hot and prickly at how close he was.

His eyes were so blue. I’d never seen eyes that blue in my life.

My insides felt liquid, my heartbeat thrumming in my chest.

And the way he looked at me. Like I was the only person in the room, even though it was filled with palace staff.

“Y-yes, not one rat,” I said haltingly, wishing I was the kind of easy, sparkling conversationalist who could dazzle him with witty repartee.

But he laughed again, his smile big and broad and easy. Then his hand moved, with the exquisite confidence only extremely fucking hot men possess, because no one ever tells them no, to my waist. His grip was firm and assured.

“Dance with me,” he said.

And how could I ever have looked into that face and said no?

I would have followed him anywhere.

“What do you like to do in between charming the kitchen staff?” he asked as he spun me around the dance floor.

I could feel envious stares fairly burning my skin, and it made my palms feel clammy, prickly heat breaking out all over me.

“I’m—an illustrator,” I said, because it sounded too pretentious to say ‘artist,’ and might give him the mistaken impression that I had a lot of money. “And I love reading and rock-climbing.”

His gleaming megawatt smile beamed brighter at me, and he bent down to my ear, the feel of his breath across my throat sending little flickers of need all along my skin and down my spine.

“Why, Lady Delilah, I love rock-climbing too,” he said. “There are a lot of amazing routes in the hiking trails and mountains behind the palace. I can show you some of them, if you like.”

And that was it.

I never went home.

The first night I told myself sternly not to get too excited, not to get in over my skis. But I never stood a chance. I had fallen head-over-heels stupidly in love.

Alexander wanted me to stay a few weeks longer, after the other guests had gone home.

And then he just kept suggesting I stay for another week. And then a week after that.

And I didn’t want to leave.

I was desperately, madly, painfully in love with Alexander Levesque. Drop-dead gorgeous, bright-eyed, funny, warm, affectionate, supportive Alexander.

He was even brilliant. He was the heir to the throne, but he also worked in tech and programming, developing apps for the Norjava hospital system.

Even the lightest touch of his fingers set my skin on fire, and I was desperate to do anything to stay with him.

I was a very strong rock-climber, and had even competed in some low-level events in college, but when he told me to be careful on a climb that was simple, I slowed down, and I didn’t tell him. And I didn’t correct him when he patiently instructed me on the handholds I should look for on a route that I could have done in my sleep.

When I dropped lightly to the ground after completing the climb, he bent down and gave me a kiss, the touch of his lips unbearably arousing, his hand on my waist, pulling me closer.

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