Princely Submission by K.C. Wells

Chapter Seven

Stuart tied his robe, then knocked on the adjoining door. “Are you ready?” When it opened, he frowned. “Obviously not.” Jordan was dressed in his jeans and a tee. “I thought you’d have changed into your swim trunks and worn your robe over them.”

Jordan looked him up and down. “Oh. Are you going down to the pool like that?” His gaze lingered at Stuart’s crotch just a tad too long.

He just doesn’t quit, does he?

Stuart nodded. “I should have said. In hotels, if you’re using the pool, or the sauna, et cetera, you can go down in your robe. That’s common practice.”

Jordan wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like the sound of that. Will there be a room where I can change?”

“Of course.”

“Then let me fetch my robe and trunks, and we’ll go.” He grinned. “Prepare to lose.”

“We’ll see about that.” There was every chance Jordan would beat the pants off him. He had twenty years on the prince, and although he kept in shape, his days of powering through the water as he’d done when he was younger, were far behind him.

That didn’t mean he was going to give Jordan an easy time.

The pool was situated in a long room decorated in white, which contrasted well with the blue tiles lining its bottom. Along one wall were several glass-doored rooms, each containing two single beds, a small table set between them. The top-notch cabanas were certainly an upgrade from the loungers-around-the-pool Stuart was accustomed to.

He slipped out of his robe and laid it on one of the beds. Jordan had gone to the bathroom to change. Thank God he bought the boring trunks. His comment about not fitting into the Speedos had led Stuart’s mind in only one direction.

Is our prince big in certain departments?

Not that it mattered. Stuart was not about to find out. Let’s hope there are no ‘accidents’ and he loses his trunks. He felt sure such an event would be deliberate: that matched Jordan’s MO.

“See? They’re boring.”

Stuart glanced toward the glass door. Jordan stood in the gap, his hands on his hips. “They are not. They serve a purpose.” As he peered at the trunks, there was movement, just the tiniest twitch beneath the fabric.

Stuart jerked his head up. “Let’s swim.”

That glint in Jordan’s eye told Stuart he might have looked just a fraction too long.

He hoisted himself out of the pool and rubbed himself down with a towel, his heartbeat gradually returning to its normal rhythm.

“You’re not giving up, are you?” Jordan called from the water.

Stuart waved his hand. “I know when I’m beaten.”  He narrowed his gaze. “I asked if you were a good swimmer, and you said no. You lied.” He’d definitely given Jordan a run for his money though.

Jordan climbed the steps, emerging from the pool as if he were a model showing off swimwear, his movements fluid and graceful. Stuart tried not to stare at his lithe form. The damp trunks clung to him, making it apparent that part of Jordan’s anatomy was very much awake.

“You did okay—for an old man.” Jordan’s eyes sparkled.

“And there you go, poking the bear again.” Stuart went into the small room they were using, and sat on the bed. Jordan sat facing him, the water still beading on his skin. “But before you get too cocky, let me point something out. I have more body hair than you do. It creates drag. You, on the other hand, are smooth-skinned. That’s why you were faster.”

Jordan’s lips twitched. “That’s your theory?”

“Yup, and I’m sticking to it.” Stuart had loved the exercise. It had felt great to get his heart pumping.

“Can we do this again?”

“Sure. As long as you’re not gonna make every time a competition.”

Jordan laughed. “I’ve proved I’m the better swimmer. I don’t need to repeat the performance.” He glanced toward the bathroom where he’d changed. “I’ll be right back.” He gave Stuart a mock glare. “And before you say a word, you’re not coming with me.”

Stuart arched his eyebrows. “I think you’re old enough to take care of that particular function by yourself.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. He put on his robe and walked through the glass doors, heading around the pool toward the bathroom.

Stuart lay down on the bed and relaxed. His body ached, but it was a pleasant ache. He certainly put me through my paces. In his mind he went over the schedule for the next few days. The king and queen were finally taking a break from meetings, and Dave was to accompany them and Jordan on a visit to the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty.

Stuart didn’t mind the prospect of a little time off. He doubted Jordan would mind either. They’d been living in each other’s pockets for the last five days, and Jordan would probably be glad of the opportunity to lose his “shadow” as he put it.

His phone rang on the table beside him. It was Dave. “Where are you?”

“At the pool. We went for a swim. What’s up?”

“Jordan isn’t with you right now, is he?”

Cold trickled through him, and he sat bolt upright. “How do you know that? He went to the bathroom.” Then he froze. And it shouldn’t have taken him this long. Stuart lurched off the bed and grabbed his robe. “You’ve picked him up on the app?”

“Yes. He’s just left the hotel.”

What the fuck?

“I need to get dressed. Send a couple of guys out there and find him. Let me know when they do.” He hurried around the pool and toward the main door, his mind in a whirl.

I’m gonna kill him. No wonder he didn’t mind me going down in my robe. He knew I’d have to go back up to the room to get dressed. He fucking planned this.

By the time Stuart had arrived at the suite and squirmed into his jeans and a sweatshirt, he was livid. As he stepped into the hallway and closed the door, his phone rang again. It was Keith, one of the Security team.

“We’ve got him. He was at Teuscher’s. We’re bringing him back now.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Stuart ran for the elevator. I should have known it was too good to be true. When it arrived, he got on it, forcing himself to breathe. His phone rang again, and he answered immediately. “Don’t tell me you’ve lost him.”

“He won’t go with us. Stubborn little bastard, isn’t he?”

“The fuck he won’t. Stay there. I’m coming.” The doors opened and he bolted across the lobby toward the main door. Stuart sprinted along 5th Avenue, heading for the Center. As he rounded the corner, he spotted Keith and Jake, standing outside Teuscher’s.

Jordan looked pissed, but Stuart didn’t give a fuck. He strode up to them, his heart hammering. “Going somewhere, Your Highness?”

Jordan stood with his arms folded, his chin jutting out, his eyes flinty. “All I wanted was some chocolate. I’d read about this place online. It’s supposed to be really good.”

“Yeah, I know. We passed it on our way to the Rockefeller Center a few days ago. And if you’d wanted to buy some chocolate, all you had to do was ask.” He glared at Jordan. “But we both know buying chocolate is not the issue. It’s the way you went about it. So if you’ll follow me, your Highness, we’ll accompany you to the hotel.”

“It’s not as if I have a choice,” Jordan complained.

They walked back to West 53rd Street, Stuart leading, Jordan behind him, flanked by Keith and Jake. Jordan remained silent, which wasn’t a bad thing, because Stuart was close to boiling point. Once inside the hotel, they headed straight for the elevator. Stuart was going over what he was going to say when he got Jordan back to his room.

Shouting ‘What the fuck did you think you were doing?’ was not the way to go, much as he longed to blurt it out.

They got off the elevator. Stuart thanked Keith and Jake, then pointed along the hallway to the suite. He opened the door and waited till Jordan was inside, before slamming it shut.

“You don’t learn, do you?”

Jordan’s eyes widened. “And I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to—the prince who is my responsibility, who has tried twice to leave the hotel alone. Because don’t think for one moment I believed that crap about checking out the hotel shop the night we arrived. You try this again, and you know what to expect. Do I have to spell it out?”

Red stained Jordan’s cheeks. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

“Then don’t act like one. If you want to be treated as an adult, then stick to the rules.” He made an effort to breathe normally. “I am responsible for your safety while you are here, do you get that? If you’d gotten mowed down by a bus, you’d end up in the hospital, and I’d be in the morgue, because your parents would kill me.” Another deep breath. “You want to know what really pisses me off? The subterfuge. You knew you were going to pull this stunt when you went down to the pool, didn’t you? You had it all thought out. So tell me, Your Highness—how am I supposed to trust you ever again after this? Hmm?”

Jordan was shaking. “All I wanted was some chocolate,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And I still don’t believe you. So we have some work to do to get back to where we were. Because I thought we were doing okay. Now I realize what the last four days have been—your attempt to lull me into a false sense of security.” Stuart was shaking too, but with rage. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to leave you alone for a while. I need to calm down before we speak again. And it might be a while before I trust you again.” He pointed to the door. “Now, do I need to have someone sit outside in the hallway, or are you going to stay put until dinner?”

“It looks as if I’m not going anywhere,” Jordan murmured.

“You got that right.” Stuart went into his room and had to fight the urge to slam his door.

What am I going to do with him?

Jordan lay on his bed. The TV was on, but he wasn’t watching.

His head was full of Stuart.

Being caught by the bodyguards had been annoying and humiliating. He had no idea how they’d found him so fast. He’d felt as if he were a child. Stuart’s words still burned in his memory.

“It might be a while before I trust you again.”

The story about the chocolate had been a cover, of course, although he had intended to buy some for his mother. The real goal had been to explore, to get his bearings, in preparation for his next escape. But Stuart had been right. Jordan had planned the whole thing, and it had worked out beautifully—until they’d caught up with him.

“It might be a while before I trust you again.”

And that was what pained him the most—part of him wanted Stuart to trust him.

He could have said so much more when we were alone, but he didn’t. Just like he could have reacted to any of Jordan’s attempts at coquetry, but he hadn’t.Jordan had soon realized Stuart was a consummate professional who genuinely wanted to protect him, but he was still the thorn in Jordan’s side he couldn’t remove.

And time was ticking by faster than ever.

There was little more than a week remaining in New York, and then they would be going to Los Angeles. Three short weeks, and Jordan would be back in Elloria.

I may never get this chance again.

What came to mind were a couple of lines of poetry, which would have amused Dr. Sajak to no end. Jordan had always grumbled when his tutor had tried to expose him to poetry, telling him that it served no purpose, and why did he need to know what a long-dead English poet had written in the 1650s? Yet those two lines haunted him now.

But at my back I always hear

Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near

Time was Jordan’s enemy, because it was slipping through his fingers.

I don’t want to go home a virgin.

Jordan wanted to cram what remained of their visit with sexual encounters, but he knew that was unlikely. I would settle for one night in a man’s arms. And it would have to be a man, not someone his own age. He wanted a man who was experienced, who’d take his time…

Someone who looked like Stuart Whitmore.

He closed his eyes and recalled the sight of Stuart in the pool. Jordan’s fingers had ached to touch the hair covering Stuart’s chest, to tease his nipples that stood out so proudly, to slide his hands over Stuart’s firm body. Heat flushed through him at the memory of Stuart’s muscular thighs and arms, the breadth of his chest, the trickle of hair that swelled as it dipped below the waistband of his swim trunks.

What would it take to get you into my bed, Mr. Whitmore?

Then he remembered the lines again, and realized how apt the poem had been. Andrew Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress had been an attempt to get a girl into the poet’s bed, after all. The ending might have been gloomy, with all that talk of death, but Jordan had taken the main message to be that of Let’s fuck while we can.

He doubted Stuart would respond positively to such a proposal.

Then he pushed his despondency aside. There was still time, and he still had plans to fulfill. All that was required was a little… recalculation.

Jordan reached for the tablet, and began his search.