Chapter 2 Logan
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, no.
HRH Prince Erik of Sweden is caught in a riptide.
I’m going to spank his ass if he survives.
I toss my phone and earpiece down onto the sand, toe off my shoes, and sprint over to the lifeguard stand, where I nab the life ring from its hook on the side of the lookout structure. As I race into the water, the lifeguard on duty is yelling something I can’t make out.
Hopefully he’s launching a boat out there. I can’t wait around to find out. I’m going to try to tug Erik out of the riptide without getting stuck in it myself. The darker water is a telltale sign.
“Logan!” The prince’s shout is garbled through the waves.
My words are punctuated by my breaths as I do my best to move toward him and communicate at the same time. “I’m coming for you! Grab the life ring!”
I swim faster, the salt water burning my eyes and the water weighing down my clothes.
He’s probably within distance. I wrap the rope around my wrist and, using all my strength, throw the life ring at him.
Erik splashes toward it, but the tide is pulling him away from me too quickly.
Fuck. I haul the ring back to me. “Hang on!” I yell, throwing the ring out again the second it touches my fingers, and this time I get it closer to Erik, who reaches for it, but the current is still taking him away, even as he fights it.
My lungs burning, I kick at the water as hard as I can and then pop my head up.
I toss the life ring again.
He misses it. Again.
Dammit.
I can’t lose him for many reasons.
Prince Erik is more than my charge, my job. He’s … the object of all my daydreams.
Before I met him, I never thought much about my sexuality. I figured I was straight, because that’s the default.
Then I met this infuriatingly haughty blond bombshell of a prince.
These days all I want to do is spank his ass and then fuck it. I want to put him in his place. I guess that means I’m not exactly straight.
But he can never know about my fantasies.
And even if he could, I won’t ever get to tell him about them if I don’t save him.
I’m gasping now. My shorts and T-shirt are dragging me down.
I have to get to him. I have to get him.
“Logan!”
I pull the life ring to me and throw it as hard as I can again, the rope around my wrist chafing my skin.
At last, Erik manages to hook an arm through it.
If I weren’t panting so hard, I’d sigh in relief. He’s tethered to me, albeit at the end of a long rope, and he’s safely on the surface. The most urgent danger is past.
I tread water, avoiding the dark current that he’s caught in, doing my best to pull him closer to me, but it’s more than I can accomplish on my own. I cast around for help.
To my relief, I see a lifeguard approaching in a surf rescue boat. He steers it toward Erik, using the current, and picks up the rope, then manages to grab Erik under the armpits. Somehow he hauls Erik out of the water and into the bottom of the boat without capsizing.
“You got him?” I yell.
“Yeah, mate,” the lifeguard yells back. “You okay to head to shore on your own?”
I give him a thumbs-up, then wait a beat longer, watching him turn the boat, before I start swimming back.
The lifeguard maneuvers the boat fully into the current and rides the stream to a place a ways down the beach where he can angle the boat toward shore.
I race along the packed wet sand to be there to greet them. I’m so glad to see the breathless prince, I could hug him.
Except I mustn’t do that.
A small crowd has gathered, and several people have their phones out. Protective ire rips through me. They will not harm my prince. I growl at them, “Stop recording. Do something useful like calling emergency services.”
One nods and begins dialing.
Prince Erik steps out of the boat on shaky legs, and I’m horrified to see the red welts on his shin. My body tenses, and I want to go after whatever animal dared abuse my prince. Although I want to take him in my arms, I restrain myself and help him out of the boat. “What happened?” I ask.
“I got stung by a jellyfish,” he says in his melodic accent.
“Guys, we need a medic,” I yell over my shoulder.
“On it,” one of the crowd says.
“Already called,” says another.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Here comes someone,” a different person says, and I sigh in relief as another lifeguard races toward us carrying a medical bag.
“Everyone clear the area,” I say in my most authoritative voice. The crowd reluctantly disperses, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Prince Erik doesn’t need a bunch of lookie-loos gawking at him while he receives medical care.
“What did the jellyfish look like?” the first lifeguard asks, hauling the boat back onto the beach.
“Kind of a light purple or pink. Small. Maybe the size of my hand.” Erik gestures.
The lifeguard nods. “A little mauve stinger. Not fatal, but it can hurt.”
The arriving lifeguard drops her medical kit on the sand next to Erik. She’s pulling gloves out of it and quickly assessing the situation. “We need to get the adhering tentacles off,” she says.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Prince Erik says.
“Great,” the medical lifeguard says as she starts removing the bits of tentacle that are attached to Erik’s skin. “You’ll feel better once we get these off you.”
“And quick thinking there with the life ring,” the other one says to me.
All kinds of emotions pass through me as I imagine what could have happened: Prince Erik drowning or getting bitten by something meaner than a small jellyfish.
“What are you doing?” Erik asks the first lifeguard, who has appeared with a small bucket of water.
“I’m going to flush the tentacles off your skin,” he says. “Seawater is best right now for cleaning.” Working together, the lifeguards pour seawater over the area again and again.
A kid comes up to me, holding my phone and earpiece and shoes. “You left these.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking them and shoving on my shoes. I need my phone for access to the hotel room. I attach the earpiece and ask a royal staff person to get our things from the cabana as well as to contact a doctor and have them meet us in the room.
Finally, the medic lifeguard looks up. “He needs to sit in hot water, as hot as he can comfortably tolerate, for at least twenty minutes,” she says. “Then do a cold pack or ice pack if it still hurts.”
“Does it hurt?” I murmur to Erik. His bright blue eyes catch mine, and my heart stutters.
“Kind of,” he mutters.
“‘Kind of’ means yes,” I say. “The doctor is on the way.”
He bites his lip, but before he opens his mouth to reply, I hear sirens. Does he need to go to the hospital? I suppose that’s a question for the medical professionals.
We wait for the medics to arrive and evaluate him, which takes another ten minutes or so. While Erik’s leg is red, he seems to be otherwise unharmed, and they pronounce him well enough to avoid a trip to the emergency room. “Get him in a hot bath,” one of the medics says.
“Copy,” I say. “Thank you all for your help. I’ll take him to his suite for further medical attention.”
Erik looks exhausted, and his leg still has angry red welts on it. “Let’s get you warmed up,” I say, hoisting him up in my arms.
“I can walk,” he yelps.
I do a quick assessment. I don’t want to embarrass him. “Then lean on me, at least.”
His expression turns to gratitude for just a moment. “That’s fine.”
I hook my arm under his armpit so I can support his weight, and we set off for the hotel, with me helping him stumble through the sand.
Except this wasn’t a good call, because we’re touching, his bare torso against me. My hand doesn’t quite know where to go, and I’m doing my best to hold his side without enjoying how lithe he is.
I’m failing pretty hard at that. He smells like the salty ocean and sunscreen, and his breath fans across my cheek. If he keeps this up, I’m going to be having some very inappropriate thoughts about my employer.
Not that that’s anything new.
It’s a good thing I have other things to focus on. Like hoping none of those people with cameras figure out who was being treated for jellyfish stings there on the sand and wondering how much trouble I’ll be in when word of this gets back to Stockholm.
The fact that the prince is leaning on me tells me that his leg hurts worse than he’s letting on. Now that we’re not surrounded by people, I ask him very quietly, “I’ve sent for a physician, but would you rather go to the hospital?”
“No,” he grumbles. “Just get me to my room.”
I nod and help him to the paved path that leads back to the resort. Once we’re off the sand, he walks on his own, limping slightly.
We leave sandy footprints through the lobby, but the hotel can deal with it.
In the elevator, I notice he’s shivering, probably from a combination of shock and air-conditioning.
Goose bumps cover his bare arms and chest. It’s been difficult for me not to lust after him all afternoon, but now he’s here close to me, his blond hair mussed, his trunks stuck to his body leaving very little to the imagination.
Stop perving on him, Logan. Do your job.
I use my phone key to open up our suite. Rather, it’s his suite and I’m his security, so I have an adjoining room.
“Let’s soak you in hot water,” I order, almost pushing him into the huge bathroom. There is a large shower to one side and a whirlpool tub in the opposite corner. I turn on the water for the bath, thankful that it doesn’t take long to heat up or fill.
Prince Erik stands waiting, his arms wrapped around his bare waist, a scowl on his face.
When the water is about six inches deep, I go to help him in, but he snaps at me.
“I can do it.” He steps into the bathtub and sits down, his arms on the sides, his back against the wall, and his legs straight before him.
“Temperature okay?” I ask. “They said it should be as hot as you can stand.”