Page 25 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

It’s a beautiful spot — not quite the tropical lagoon of movies, but gorgeous nevertheless. It’s surrounded by greenery, huge leafy trees, birds flitting about the sky, and mammals snuffling around in the bushes. And at one edge of the lake stands the waterfall, crashing down in a white torrent that casts a sense of serenity over everything.

“Wow,” says Jens, stepping forward, looking around, mouth wide open. “This place is awesome “Don’t you just want to come on vacation here like all the time?”

“You can’t,” I chuckle. “You have to get a permit, remember?”

“Damn,” he frowns, almost disappointed that he can’t make this a destination for the future. “I’m glad to be here now, then. Wait — is this illegal? I don’t have a permit. Am I allowed to be here?”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, I think they would make an exception for a guy who got shipwrecked and washed up on shore and had to be rescued by…”

“Rescued by?” He frowns, puzzled by why I stopped halfway through my sentence.

The truth is, I was about to say rescued by a beautiful woman, but somehow flirting with him feels like something I shouldn’t do, even though he’s gorgeous. And even though we’ve spent way too much time together over the last week, the chances of him — a handsome, rich guy — wanting anything to do with someone like me are very, very small.

“By someone,” I say lamely, not knowing how else to end the sentence.

Jens nods sagely, as if that’s a good enough response for him, and I’m just glad it gets me off the hook.

We keep walking in silence, and I feel that stupid desire to hold his hand again. A few times, we’ve held hands — not in any meaningful way, but every time he’s helped me up or I’ve guided him through the woods and our hands have entwined, sparks have flooded through my fingers.

I crush it all down. There’s no point getting caught up in something that can’t be.

Even if he is utterly gorgeous.

“Can I swim?” he asks as we approach the waterfall.

“You want to swim?”

“Yeah, why not? I don’t mind getting my shirt wet. Unless it’s not allowed. I mean, if there’s, I don’t know, important fish or special seaweed, or?—”

“Yes, Jens. You can swim. I’m going to catch us our dinner.”

“Catchit?”

I burst into laughter. He’s just so adorable like this, when he’s clueless and confused. “Yeah, dummy. A fish. You know, those things that come from the water. Please tell me you know where food comes from.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course I do. I just didn’t realize that would be allowed here.”

I could swear that for a fraction of a second, his eyes dart down to my breasts, and I have to stop myself from throwing him my own wanting look. He probably wasn’t. He’s not that kind of guy. It’s just my own wishful thinking going wild.

He strips off his pants as I settle down with my net, and I stare down at the water, willing myself not to stare at him as he jumps into the lake. He swims right up to the waterfall, dives under the surface, then emerges, throwing his hands into the air. He pushes his wet eyes out of his hair, then waves at me. “This is awesome!” he yells.

I just smile back. His T-shirt is sticking to his chest, showing off his defined pecs, teasing me with the idea of his abs, his taut stomach. His muscular thighs…

This is becoming a real problem.

Fishing. I am fishing. I am not looking at Jens, standing under the waterfall, grinning back at me whenever he catches my eye. I’ve promised him a fish dinner, and that’s what we’re going to have.

He swims back over to me eventually, giving me that puppy-dog smile again. “Got anything yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Oh. How long does it usually take?”

“What — you in a rush to get back?”

He shakes his head and flops back into the water with a splash. “No! Not even a bit!”

“You’ll scare the fish off with all that noise,” I laugh, and cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from giggling as he keeps splashing around to amuse me.

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