Page 66 of Scarred Crown

At least he’s not so grumpy since I agreed to his ridiculous terms. Of course, he had to agree to mine too. At the first stopover, I marched him into the airport spa where they cut his hair and trimmed his beard.

Truthfully, he’s not the worst travel companion. During our layovers, he’s gotten us access to ultra-first-class lounges. He’s been witty and charming—his best self. If I wasn’t already worried about my head and my heart around him, I’d be in full-on panic mode now. As it is, I think I’ve resigned myself to heartache as the best case, heartbreak as the worst-case scenario, once his interest in me vanishes again.

“Jensen,” Nick says from beside me, one eye open. “You should get some sleep. You’re not gonna get any once we arrive.”

“I know they say it’s the city that never sleeps, but do we really have to live the cliché?”

“Who is ‘they’ exactly? New York is actually the city that never sleeps.” He stretches, and his T-shirt rides up to show a sliver of toned stomach. “Do you frequently hang around people who don’t sleep?”

My fingers itch to slide along the waist of his jeans, up along his torso. Before he got the haircut and trimmed his beard, he was attractive but cleaned up, he’s head-turning, panty-dropping, weak-in-the-knees gorgeous.

He wiggles, and the shirt rises higher, exposing more muscles. He chuckles.

I raise my startled gaze from his defined stomach muscles to his amused expression.

“I thought you might want more of a show.” He smirks. “You’re drooling, Jensen.”

Before I can think about what he’s said, I touch my mouth. His deep laughter sounds, and I slap his chest. “Teasing me about the fact you’re incredibly physically attractive is immature. I didn’t know you needed your ego stroked.”

He lights up and rubs his hands together. “Oh, wow. Where do I start with that one? So many options.” He pretends to think. “All right, I’ll go easy on you.” He gives me a seductive look. “You could stroke something else, if you want.”

My cheeks are on fire. “Nicholas,” I hiss. “We’re on an airplane with other people.”

“You don’t have to stroke it right now.”

I slap him again.

“The gossips have already outed our torrid affair. Just go with it, babe.” He winks at me.

Even though I’m embarrassed and tongue-tied, my insides are melting at his overt flirting. When we were friends this didn’t happen—ever. Though I witnessed him turn on the charm with other people, he never directed this brand of confidence at me.

Then as our friendship disintegrated, he became more and more aloof. This charismatic side of him, aimed at me, is like discovering a whole new person.

“I’m glad Kafil took our quick exit so well,” I say in an effort to get us back on even ground.

“I’m sure the hefty tip coupled with all our contact information for Bahati and Elena helped. They should be on the island in the next couple of weeks for surgery number one.”

A comfortable silence settles between us, and I can’t decide if I want serious Nick or flirty Nick. Definitely don’t want angry Nick. Suppose I should find out which version of him I’ll get when the plane lands.

“So, what’s the Vegas plan, then? Round up the crown bunnies? Get roaring drunk? Try to keep the exploits off social media?”

Nick scowls at me, all teasing vanishing. “I’m spending twenty-four hours with you in Vegas. That’s what I’m doing. Just you.”

My heart pounds, but I still manage a skeptical look on the outside. We’re flying to Vegas so he can spend time with me? Seems extreme. We could have gone back to Bellerive and spent time together there.

A little voice in my head waves a red flag. Bellerive is fraught with potential conflict. What will it be like between us when we return? I can’t imagine this rapport lasting when we’re officially Prince Nicholas and Secretary Jensen. History will weigh so much heavier on us. A memory around every corner.

“And some alcohol. Perhaps quite a lot.” He searches my face, and there’s a poignant pause. “Just like old times. You, me, and some alcohol.”

Now it’s my turn to scowl. “Those good times led to some not-so-good times. Forgive me if I’m not keen to repeat them.”

He slides a hand along my cheek and stares deep into my eyes. “What do you want to repeat?”

“Nick.” His name sounds like a plea, and I’m melting under the heat of his attention. He’s been flirty, and light, and fun, but he hasn’t kissed me again. Part of me was starting to wonder whether he regretted last night like last time.

Luckily, he seems to understand what I’m pleading for, what I’m too proud to ask for.

He closes the distance between our chairs, framing my face, and drawing me into a deep kiss that chips away at another piece of my soul. Without realizing it, I’ve bunched a hand in his T-shirt, preventing him from drawing too far back when the kiss ends.