The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (learn to read books TXT) 📗

twenty-first century I was supposed to not care about male opinions. Sue me, I was shallow.

Olivier stared down at me, his eyes wide. “You think I don’t find you attractive?”

“You don’t have to repeat it like that.”

“I do have to repeat it, because it’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve heard you say.”

We’d stopped in the middle of a square, and people were giving us annoyed looks for blocking foot traffic. But I was only vaguely aware of the crowd.

I could only see the look on Olivier’s face.

“Not wanting to kiss you has nothing to do with you,” he said finally.

I cocked my head to the side. “Either I’m dumb or that statement was lost in translation.”

“Niamh. You are—” He blew out a breath. “You know who I am.”

At that, I felt a sting of irritation. “How could I fail to remember that?”

“I mean, nothing that I want to happen with us could ever happen. I’m not meant to marry an American girl. That’s not what it means to be the Hereditary Prince of Salasia.”

I could almost see the crown weighing him down, and for a moment, I felt it, too. It hurt. It really did.

“I think you’re insanely attractive,” he continued. “And just insane. You make me insane, too. You aren’t afraid to speak your mind. You live your life without a care what anyone thinks—”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t care what I think. Do you know how many people I’ve known who didn’t try to flatter me, to cajole me, to get me to do things for them because of my position?” His hands were warm on my elbows. “You, Niamh. You are one of the few people who’s ever just seen me as a man, instead of as a prince.”

My heart pounded in my throat. I suddenly felt like crying. Feeling completely discombobulated, I was forced back to the present when a passerby’s purse knocked into my arm.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

We ended up at a park nearby. There were still lots of people, but it was large enough that we could find a little bit of privacy. Sitting on a bench at a nearby garden that overlooked the Spree River, we didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Eventually, Olivier took my hand. And my pathetic, lovesick heart nearly imploded inside of me when he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t.”

He released my hand, albeit reluctantly. His gaze returned to the water below.

I couldn’t stand the silence for long. It meant that we were wasting time when we could be talking. Speaking quickly, I said with a breathless laugh, “I had the idea early on to seduce you. To get you out of my system.”

Olivier didn’t laugh. He just sent me a heated glance. “If you think one time would be enough,” he nearly growled, “then by all means, let’s return to the hotel.”

I’d made a miscalculation. Swallowing hard, I pressed my hands to my red cheeks.

“No, no. I mean, I want to. But it’d probably be a terrible idea,” I said.

“Yes, a terrible idea. A very terrible idea.”

Except he caught my eyes again, and the look in them made his statement a big, fat lie. I shivered. If we were alone, there was no telling how quickly we’d rip each other’s clothes off.

I forced myself to watch a family a few yards away. A child that was probably no more than three years old was currently running away from his mother, and she was chasing after him, red-faced and yelling.

“Wanna bet how far that kid gets before his mom catches him?” I pointed. The boy had run through a flock of geese, causing the birds to honk in dismay.

Olivier narrowed his eyes. The mother was now fending off an angry goose with her hat. “Seems as though he’ll get all the way to that tree over there.”

“I think he’ll get to the bench beyond it. The one that has balloons near it.”

Olivier put out his hand, and we sealed our bet.

The little boy ran and ran, which, considering how short his legs were, was pretty impressive. His poor mother had extricated herself from the angry goose and was rushing after her son. The kid was giggling maniacally as he got closer to Olivier’s destination, his mother close on his heels.

“Come on, come on,” muttered Olivier. When the boy was able to run past the tree, his mom just narrowly missing picking him up, Olivier swore and threw his hands up. “He can’t be running that fast.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s made solely of sugar and making his mom have a heart attack.” We both watched as the chase continued. The boy ran across someone’s picnic, the mom stopping to apologize, which allowed him to gain ground again.

But right as he reached the bench, he tripped over something. We were too far away to see. Suddenly, the game was over, the kid was crying, and his mom plucked him from the ground and hugged him closely.

“What do I get for winning?” I said, smiling. “Come on, pay up.” Olivier reached into his wallet, but I laughed at him. “I don’t want your money.”

“Then what do you want?”

I didn’t know, but I did know that I wanted to wait to cash in on my winnings. “When I figure it out, I’ll ask you for it. How about that?”

“This seems like a terrible idea to agree to.”

“Yet you’ll do it anyway, won’t you?”

Olivier scoffed, but he didn’t say no. I smiled, triumphant.

We eventually returned to the hotel, our feet sore from how far we’d walked. Before we reached the building, though, Olivier said quietly, “I meant what I said.”

I waited, breathless.

“So I think it’d be best if we had separate rooms,” he continued.

I deflated like a sad balloon. It was logical and smart, and it fucking pissed me off that he could be logical in this moment. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I nodded tightly.

“I’ll go talk to the front desk.