Page 32 of Princessa
I took a sip of wine. “What does FIP stand for?”
“Financially Independent Prince.”
I snorted.
“Don’t laugh,” he said, failing miserably at sustaining his own bout of laughter. “I was quite proud of that name—and that business. But it came time for me to let it go. I’d earned enough money from it to last a lifetime. Paid off my parents’ debts, developed worldwide connections, even partied like a young, wanna-be playboy ass.” He chuckled. “So, I sold FIP, made a shitload of more money off the sell, then took time off to get my head straight.”
Setting my wineglass beside his on the table, I pivoted my body to face him.
“During that time of self-discovery,” he continued, “I wanted to check a few things off my bucket list.”
“So, getting inked and…?”
“Learning to fly a helicopter, for one.”
I cocked my head to the side, an impressed-with-him smile easing across my face. “Oh, that’s right. Google did say you’re a certified search-and-rescue pilot. Have you ever put that certification to use?”
“Well, on the day of the final test flight, I had to locate a missing hiker—it was supposed to be a simulated rescue, but on the way to Rec De Sola, we received a real call about a hiker who couldn’t find her dog.”
“A lost dog?”
“Yep, a cute golden retriever. Anyway, after flying over the terrain, I spotted Carlos—that was the dog’s name—and actually went down and hoisted him up to safety, while my instructor took control of the chopper.”
My heart swelled as I pictured Grayson, all decked out in search-and-rescue gear, bringing a scared pooch to safety. Could he have been any more perfect? “So obviously, you passed withflyingcolors.”
He acknowledged my corny-as-heck pun with a ha-ha. “Top of the class, of course.”
Our gazes locked, and honestly, it was getting harder for me to resist the urge to lean in and touch, lick, nip his glorious ink-covered pecs. “You mentioned there were a few things you wanted to knock off your bucket list. Helicopter flying was one item, getting a tattoo the other. What was the third item?”
Grayson bit down on his lower lip, the expression on his face, in his eyes, soft and utterly sincere. It was a moment of vulnerability for him—one I didn’t see coming. “Fall in love.”
In an instant the world stopped spinning, time ceased to exist, and I hoped to God my face didn’t look as discomposed as the rest of me felt. Typically, items placed on a bucket list were things a person’s never done, things never experienced. Learning Grayson—who was a pretty damn good catch—had never fallen in love, conjured up a big ball of sympathy I didn’t know how to react to. After a few beats of awkward silence, I finally asked, “Did you? Fall in love?”
Grayson dished an unaffected shrugged. “Nope. And the fact I’ve never fallen in love would be the second thing few people know about me. I suppose my stubborn heart is holding out for Ms. Right.”
It was like I’d fallen headfirst into a segue.
“Then tell me, Prince Grayson”—my voice was meek and humble, the same way my heart felt when I was around him—“who is your Ms. Right?” I reached over, traced the elaborate outline of his tattoo, and he let out a rugged breath, as though my touch was equally torturous and gratifying.
He briefly shut his eyes, only to snap them back open, piercing me with a look of humility. “Ms. Right is an independent force to be reckoned with who’s so breathtakingly gorgeous without even trying. Someone who possesses the noble and conservative qualities of a would-be princess, is self-driven, not afraid to stand her ground and”—the corner of his mouth tilted up—“is one helluva sexy piece of work when feisty.”
Palms exploring his naked chest, I appreciated the natural flex, the planes and valleys that led to a delicious-looking happy trail. “Go on…”
“Ms. Right,” he continued low and husky, “has this provincial innocence about her that drives me crazy, makes me horny as fuck. A woman who laughs at my jokes, who I can talk with over the phone for hours, yet somehow it’s still not enough. She’s someone I can’t stop thinking about, can’t stop dreaming about since the day we met.”
The breaths I tried to control came out uneven, quick, and as Grayson’s hand caressed my face, bulldozing the already tight space between us, all of me melted.
“Ms. Right”—he whispered—“is someone a lot like you.”
