The Prince’s Forbidden Bodyguard

Chapter 1 Erik

“He’s annoying. Too diligent. I should have him reassigned.” With a heavy sigh, I reach out and pluck my ginger beer from the small side table next to my chaise longue.

I swipe the pad of my thumb through the beads of moisture on the outside of the tall, clear glass. A drop falls to my bare chest, cooling my overheated skin. I take a sip, and the Australian soda slakes some of my thirst.

I’m lying on my back in my blue-and-yellow bathing trunks, enjoying how very unlike Sweden it is here on the Sunshine Coast. This cabana is doing an adequate job of keeping most of the sun off us, but it’s still a hot day.

Back home it’s the middle of a very dark and very cold winter where if we venture outside at all, it’s only in heavy coats and for limited time periods.

Here on the other side of the world, life is languorous. The air smells like sunscreen, and there’s not much to do but sunbathe and play in the waves. Or study the remaining condensation on my glass.

I’m most determinedly not looking at my bodyguard Logan, who is clad in a tight black T-shirt and dark blue walking shorts. Shorts that hug his ass as he paces slowly around our cabana, scanning the area for threats, a big hand shading his sunglasses.

I haven’t realized how his biceps bulge.

I’m not noticing that this is the first time I’ve ever seen his bare legs.

Or how his shirt shows off his muscular torso and sleeves of tattoos.

I pay attention to none of that.

This sweet, spicy beverage is just very good and occupies all my thoughts. That’s all.

I drain the rest of my drink, then study black shorebirds with red spindly legs flirting with the crashing waves and chattering among themselves.

All right, yes, I also watch my bodyguard staring back at the hotel from twenty paces away as if assassins are going to emerge out of it and attack.

Can I be blamed? He’s adorable in how tough he is.

Logan’s job is to take my security seriously, but a five-star resort on the coast of Australia is hardly a high risk for credible threats on my life.

Sweden is very far away from here. I’m more likely to be hurt by one of those famous Australian snakes or spiders than some random person who harbors ill will toward the Swedish monarchy.

I doubt anyone for ten kilometers around would even recognize me.

They would, however, recognize the men to my side.

Jasper Nord and Cristian Rivera, open-wheel racing stars, are household names worldwide.

Jasper, my brother, drives for SC Racing, and Cristian drives for Lighthouse.

Jasper’s white-blond hair and tall frame match mine.

He contrasts with Cristian’s dark mop and smaller form.

Jasper is propped up on the chaise next to mine. He moves a hand, catching my attention. “If you want to reassign him, then do it.”

On Jasper’s other side, Cristian nods.

Shaking my drink so the ice rattles, I chew on my lip and set the glass down. “It’s not that simple.” I smooth some more coconut-scented sunscreen on my legs and feet, which are the only parts of my body out in direct sunshine. The rest of my fair skin is shaded by the cabana.

I told Jasper about my crush on my bodyguard when he and Cristian were outed.

Or, rather, when Jasper outed himself with how he reacted when Cristian got into a bad crash in Bahrain.

It was fairly obvious there was something more going on between them.

When Jasper confirmed it, he also managed to get the approval of the Swedish crown: our grandmother, Queen Estelle.

But Jasper’s situation is different from mine. He’s not the crown prince. He has always been able to insist on more freedom for himself.

“If Logan’s diligent, that means he’s doing his job, which is why we have him here in the first place. How come you think he’s annoying?” Jasper asks.

“Because he’s always … there.”

That’s the main reason why Logan irritates me: I can see him. Everywhere.

But mostly in my dreams.

It’s a riff on Descartes’s first principle. Logan exists, therefore he bothers me … because I end up thinking about him. Especially late at night.

Jasper snort-laughs in a way we were trained never to do, though I suppose we are on holiday. “That, as I said, is his job.”

Cristian slides his sunglasses down his nose to study Logan. “You like him, no?”

Sitting up straight, I make a tamping-down motion with my hands.

“Shh.” Trust Cristian to say the things that shouldn’t be said.

I understand why my race car–driving brother is dating his rival—Cristian challenges my brother and makes him happy, which is a good thing—but that doesn’t mean said rival’s not as annoying as Logan.

Cristian turns to Jasper, pointing at me with his thumb. “He didn’t say yes or no.”

“Yes, Erik likes Logan. He just won’t admit it. He thinks he can’t be both a prince and in a same-sex relationship,” Jasper says in a low tone.

“You are,” Cristian replies. Unnecessarily, I might add.

“But that doesn’t mean that Erik has dealt with all of his feelings.”

I swallow a few times as my chest tightens and a tingling sensation sweeps up the back of my neck and across my face. “I’m not supposed to like him.”

“Because he’s a man?” Cristian asks. Again, too loudly, although the ocean waves help to drown out our conversation.

At least I hope they do. Our cabana is also some distance from the other beachgoers, and I don’t think Logan’s in earshot.

I do appreciate how my bodyguard is a professional and tries to give me privacy.

It’s not his fault my thoughts tend to be highly unprofessional.

I stretch my arms over my head and ignore how just thinking about Logan makes my dick twitch. We’re all shirtless and in swim trunks, but Jasper and Cristian are athletes, and I’m not. I’m fit from polo and rowing, but not like they are. When they aren’t near me, I look better.

Not that how I look on a chaise in a private beach club with no paparazzi anywhere around matters.

Except—I wish—to one person, who is now standing under a tree, surveying the shore.

“I don’t know why I have this crush. I am straight, after all,” I say.

“Ish,” Jasper says.

I tilt my head in acknowledgment. I’m just so used to saying that I’m straight that it doesn’t feel like a lie, precisely.

Still, times are changing, and I’ve spent the better part of the years since my brother got together with Cristian coming to terms with my own sexuality. I haven’t fully figured out what label is right for me. However, I do know my bodyguard makes my body react in unprecedented ways.

But my issues with making a move on Logan go beyond me.

“They’d say he’s not aristocracy. He’s not even European,” I say. “And he’s my employee.”

… and I don’t know if he likes me.

That’s the biggest problem. My bodyguard is more of a stoic than I am, and I can’t get a read on his feelings. The lack of information has been driving me up the wall.

For two years.

“You are a snob.” Cristian chuckles. “He’s worse than you are,” he says to Jasper.

“He is,” Jasper agrees, and I throw a spare folded-up towel at him. He ducks, laughing.

My brain always needs to figure out every angle, the solution to every possible problem before acting.

And getting together with my bodyguard—if he did indeed like me—would be a scandal on every news website in the entire world.

Worse than my brother’s relationship with his biggest rival, since I’m in line for the throne someday.

All those random Australians within ten kilometers would definitely know my name then.

If I’m being honest, though, it’s easier to come up with excuses as to why we can never be together than to risk rejection. Hence why I always nip the idea of Logan being mine in the bud. I’ve spent the better part of my time since I met him nipping that idea in the bud.

Problem is, the idea keeps growing bigger and developing offshoots like some kind of stubborn rose.

Or a hydra.

And the idea of nipping him has become very appealing. Perhaps it’s a simple psychological issue: He’s forbidden. I want what I cannot have, since I can have just about anything I want.

Maybe I need to taste the forbidden fruit, so to speak, to get it out of my system.

No.

That kind of thinking will get me in trouble. And I never get in trouble.

“Your Highness?” A server approaches with a fresh tray of drinks. “Another ginger beer?”

I nod, and he places it on the side table, removing my old glass. “Thank you.” The server replaces Jasper and Cristian’s drinks as well.

When he leaves, I return to watching Logan.

Jasper and Cristian start arguing about some call by the stewards at last year’s Australian Grand Prix.

The more they talk, the more they are giving me a headache.

I clench my jaw and fold my arms across my chest. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Don’t you two have some workouts to do or something? ”

Jasper checks the time on his phone and sighs. “Yes, I suppose.” He stands up.

“Just wait until Melbourne,” Cristian teases, climbing out of his chair. “I’m going to be on top.”

“That’s what you think,” Jasper mutters.

“Take your mating rituals elsewhere,” I snap. “I need to rest.”

I don’t, really. It was a long trip from Sweden, and the royal jet stopped in South Korea to refuel, but I was able to sleep on the plane.

This is, however, my first time in Australia with my handsome bodyguard. I’m unnerved by his 24-7 supervision, which isn’t necessary in the palace, where there is other security. That, combined with too many hours observing up close how happy my brother and his boyfriend are, has made me irritable.

Thankfully, Jasper and Cristian slip their shoes on, grab their phones, and go hand in hand back to the hotel, followed by David, Jasper’s bodyguard. Logan’s gaze behind his sunglasses has clearly zeroed in on them leaving, and he says something into the microphone clipped to his collar.