A Prince on Paper (Reluctant Royals #3)(15)

He made an absurdly exaggerated gasp. “Nya. Are you implying you would use coercion to get a job? I thought you were sweet.”

She smirked at him, not sure it was a compliment. “Sweetness doesn’t pay the bills, does it, Phoko?”

He laughed, and she shook her head.

“I’m joking. I can find something on my own, once I figure out what I want to do.”

He threw more water onto the hot rocks. “I wish I could help, but the only thing I know how to do is cause drama and herd paparazzi.”

“Those are very useful skills in today’s market,” she said, index finger on her chin.

“The people of my kingdom don’t really think so. My family doesn’t either.”

“That shows what they know. I just saw a very lucrative offer for a dramatic paparazzi herder on JobSearch.thesolo.” She grinned at him. “I applied, though, so you’ll have to beat me if you want the position.”

She stiffened waiting for him to respond with innuendo and ruin everything, but he shook his head slowly, then slicked his sweat-damp hair back, leaving one palm resting on his head. His other hand gripped the bench. “I cede it to you.”

She looked at the hourglass she’d flipped when she’d walked in. She’d already been in the sauna for well past the recommended time period and was starting to feel it. And it’d been a couple of hours since she’d checked her phone. If she didn’t hurry, whatever message Hanjo had sent her in One True Prince would disappear. If she missed that next message, which was meant to take their relationship from casual flirting to explicit flirting, she’d either have to pay to retrieve it or wait until the next morning to reload the game from a save point.

“I have to go.” She made her way down from the bench to the floor, but paused when he grunted in reply. “How long have you been in here?”

He slid down from his seat to the bench below and placed a hand unsteadily on the wall. “Hmm. Not quite sure, actually.”

A thread of alarm hemmed her suspicion.

“You should come out and have a cooling soak, then,” she said. “Too much heat can be dangerous.”

Johan stood, a sheepish grin starting to pull up his mouth and his gaze locked on hers. Then the grin slipped away like the sand in the hourglass, and his eyes went white as the irises rolled up. He started to pitch forward. Nya ran to him, arms scooped ahead of her to catch him under the armpits, but she wasn’t prepared for the deadweight of an unconscious playboy.

“Eh, eh, eh!” she called out. She braced with her legs as much as she could, but Johan’s bulk brought them both down to the floor. Her braids cushioned her head as it bounced against the warm wood, but then she was stuck under Johan’s sweaty, solid mass. The floor was damp with moisture and though Nya was concerned for him, she was also wary of how many bare feet had passed over the planks pressing into her body.

“Phoko!” she said urgently. “Johan!”

He stirred a little, but she was still pinned beneath him. The hot metal of whatever pendant he wore pressed into her rib cage.

“Wake up,” she cajoled, wriggling a bit to get away from the heat of it—and him.

His head lifted slowly, slowly, until it was directly above hers.

“Was ist passe?” he asked groggily as his eyes fluttered open. His nose brushed hers, once, twice, three times as he shook his head and blinked.

“Did you eat today?” she asked, trying to move her arms. His whole body was pressed into hers, and she thought she could feel every muscle and every sinew that held him together. Every muscle.

She stopped moving.

“I don’t think so,” he admitted.

Nya sucked in a breath. “You are crushing me, Phoko. Can you roll over? I’ll go get a doctor.”

“No, no doctor.” He braced his palms on the floor and levered himself up, staring down into her face. He looked embarrassed and confused. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It happens all the time in small, hot spaces like this.”

A cool breeze cut through the steam, and they both turned their heads to see one of the palace guards standing over them, eyes wide.

“I thought there was danger,” the woman said, averting her gaze. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Johan was in his tiny swimming trunks. Nya was in her hot-pink bikini and—she glanced down at the newly freed-up space between them—yes, her front-clasp top had failed to constrain her bosom during the fall.

She shimmied her hands up to fix her top, which Johan seemed not to have noticed. “He fainted after sitting in the sauna too long. Can you help us?”

The guard didn’t indicate that she believed Nya in the least, but she strode over to them. She made a big show of hoisting Johan up from behind, and Nya made sure the cups of her bikini top were in place.

“Shall I call the royal medic?” the guard asked.

“Yes,” Nya said.

“No. Unnecessary,” Johan overruled as he stood with the guard’s help.

He was too woozy to see that his rejecting aid made this whole situation even more suspect.

“Please escort him to the dining area of the spa, and get him something to eat and drink,” Nya said. “And have a medic check him, just in case.”