The Wild Heir

  Magnus serves up the ball and once again comes down on it with a hard swing that hits the ball perfectly. It goes right for me again and this time I both try to jump out of the way and attempt to swing at it.

  It doesn’t go well.

  My swing comes up empty and the movement almost makes me topple over, and once again, the ball stays inside the court.

  “Fuck!” I yell, tempted to ram my racket into the ground. I can see why tennis players have such anger issues. If this continues for much longer I foresee myself launching the racket at his head.

  “That’s the spirit,” he says, holding up a ball. “This is the last one I have. You better make it count.”

  “You’re a royal drittsekk, you know that?”

  He grins proudly, though I don’t know whether it’s because I managed to speak Norwegian or that he’s actually proud of being a royal shitbag.

  Either way, he’s in it to win.

  The ball goes up.

  The racket comes down.

  And all I see is this tennis ball coming straight at me, like a neon green meteor headed right for my face.

  I’m too stunned to even try to move.

  The ball bops me right on my fucking nose.

  The world explodes into stars and I yell, “You son of a bitch!” while my eyes pinch shut and I crumple to my knees, holding my nose with one hand, the other keeping me up off the ground.

  Don’t cry, don’t cry, I tell myself even though my eyes are starting to water. Fuck, it bloody hurts!

  Meanwhile I can hear Magnus leaping over the net and running toward me, throwing his racket to the ground. “Holy fuck, I am so fucking sorry!”

  His hands are at my back, on my arm, and I try to wave him away but it’s hard when my whole face is on fire and I feel like I’m about to pass out.

  “Let me see,” he says, placing his hand at the back of my neck and crouching beside me.

  I gradually lift my head up and hear him inhale sharply.

  “What?” I say, my eyes flying open. I manage to look at my hand. It’s completely covered in blood. “Ahhh!”

  By the way, I don’t do well with blood.

  The world starts to spin again, getting fuzzy around the edges.

  “It’s okay,” he says, though there is nothing reassuring about his voice.

  “It’s not okay!” I cry out. “You probably broke my nose, you asshole.”

  “Drittsekk,” he corrects.

  “Yeah, shitbag. Prince Shitbag.” I grab my nose again, the blood dripping onto the ground. “Oh god, I’m going to faint.”

  “You’re not,” he says, grabbing my arms and trying to haul me up to my feet. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

  I’m pretty much putty at this point and when I’m up, my feet seem to disappear below me. I lean right into Magnus’s chest. His very warm, very hard, very intimidating chest.

  Which I’m currently getting blood all over.

  I pinch my eyes closed, trying to stay conscious.

  “Ugh, sorry,” I whimper, trying to pull away.

  But I swear his body is a magnet to mine and then his arms go around the small of my waist, holding me against him.

  I’m powerless.

  And bleeding all over him.

  “I’ve got you,” he says. His tone is serious, as is his grip. “Let’s just take a moment. Breathe in. Breathe out.” He pauses. “Not through your nose, of course.”

  I try and take in a deep breath. Let it out. Then another and another.

  “You feel better?” he asks.

  I give a slight shake of my head. Honestly, I just want to collapse against him even more.

  “Okay, hold on,” he says, and then before I know what’s going on, he’s bending down and scooping me up into his arms.

  I let out a yelp, one arm going around his shoulder to hold on, the other still holding on to my nose, as if it’s stopping anything.

  He carries me out of the court and into the house, and luckily I don’t think any of the help see us. They’d probably freak out and place a phone call to the Queen or something. Who knew tennis could go so wrong?

  “Jane!” I yell for her once we’re inside, still in Magnus’s arms. “Jane!”

  “She went for a walk,” Ottar says, coming around the corner. “What—” He stops dead when he sees us. “Oh, helvete. What on earth happened here?” He looks at Magnus accusingly.

  “Tennis happened,” Magnus says. “Can you grab the first aid kit? I’m sure it’s somewhere.”

  “Of course, sir,” he says and then scurries off.

  “You can put me down now,” I tell Magnus.

  “I don’t think so,” he says. “You might hurt yourself again.”

  “Me hurt myself? You’re the one who treated me like target practice.”

  The corner of his lips curve into a smile and it’s only now that I’m realizing how close my face is to his. I’ve never noticed the streaks of green in his mahogany eyes before, how long and dark his lashes are, the low arch of his brows. Good lord, he’s stunning.

  But the feeling doesn’t last very long.

  Because blood is pouring off my nose at very close range to this stunning man.

  Stunning man? It’s only Magnus, I have to remind myself.

  “Is it just your nose that hurts or do you think your brain was affected?” he asks after a moment.

  “Huh?”

  “The way you’re looking at me,” he says slowly, the pink of his tongue appearing between his lips.

  “How am I looking at you?”

  Wait, I don’t want to know.

  “Like you might actually like me.”

  I can’t help but smile. But smiling brings a sharp jolt of pain to my nose.

  “Uuugh,” I moan, shutting my eyes to him, to everything. Jeez, I admire the guy in my head and his ego somehow already knows and is running with it.

  “I’ve got the kit!” Ottar says, and I hear his footsteps against the wood floors as he runs over, out of breath. “And towels for the mess. I’ll put them down on the couch.”

  Magnus takes me over to one of the couches and gently lowers me down on it, then gets down on his knees beside it so he’s at my level.

  “Ottar I need a wet warm washcloth, stat!” he barks.

  “Yes, sir!” Ottar says and runs off again.

  Meanwhile Magnus is smiling to himself.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I just enjoy ordering him around so much.”

  I roll my eyes. “Always have to be in charge, huh?”

  “Something like that,” he says, placing his hand over mine and trying to pry it away. “Let me see your nose.”

  Gingerly, I let him take my hand away and he leans in closer, inspecting it.

  “How is it?”

  “Oh it’s just awful,” he says and I have no idea if he’s pulling my leg or not.

  My eyes widen at that as Ottar sticks his hand in front of us, a wet cloth dangling from his fingers. Magnus snatches it up and very gently proceeds to dab the cloth on my face.

  “Let me know if it hurts,” he says.

  It does hurt. Every dab makes my eyes sting, sends lightning bolts of pain into my brain. But I don’t say anything because I know it needs to be done.

  And honestly, I think I like him doting on me like this. He’s surprisingly gentle and I watch him as he concentrates, dark brows furrowed together, biting his lower lip. There’s a strange tenderness and intimacy to this whole thing.

  I think Ottar picks up on it too because he says, “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  “I’ve got it from here, thank you.”

  Ottar walks off and Magnus does a final wipe down the side of my nose. I keep my attention off the cloth which I know is soaked with my blood. Then again, so are both of us.

  “There,” he says softly, tilting his head back and forth as he looks me over.

  “Does it look broken?” I ask him. I would hate to have a broken nose. It
already has a crooked bump in the middle of it as it is, though Jane is fairly insistent that it’s all in my head.

  “It’s a bit swollen and it’s going to leave a nasty bruise, maybe even two black eyes,” he says. “Good thing you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry about that,” he says, reaching up and brushing a strand of hair off my face. My skin erupts with shivers from the rough feel of his fingers, the curious way he’s gazing at me.

  It leaves me momentarily tongue-tied and confused. This is a side of him I haven’t seen yet and I’m not sure I like how it makes me feel.

  How it scares me in ways I don’t want to articulate.

  “Sorry about what?” I eventually say.

  “That my body is so amazing,” he says, straight-faced. “It really wasn’t fair. How can you concentrate on tennis balls when you’ve got my own balls on your mind?”

  “Magnus,” I warn, not letting myself smile again. It will hurt way too much. “Not now. Please.”

  “I mean, I shouldn’t have been showing off my yogurt slinger like that,” he says.

  “Your…what?”

  And then it’s over. I burst out laughing, crying out in pain at the same time. “Ow, ow, ow. Damn it, Magnus. You need to get your head checked.”

  “Which head?”

  “Stop!” I’m alternating between crying and laughing. “This isn’t fair. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

  He grins at me, a softness coming over his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to make you laugh like that. You’re so fucking beautiful, Ella.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Did he seriously just say that? Was it a joke?

  I stare at him, my smile faltering slightly.

  He shrugs. “Too bad you have to deal with Prince Shitbag here.” He pauses and sits back a bit. “Honestly, though, I am sorry for that. I don’t know what came over me out there. I didn’t mean to get all aggressive and hit it so hard, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt you. I guess I get a bit too competitive.”

  He could say that again. The look that came over his face when he was serving is probably the same one he gets before he jumps off a cliff or gets behind the wheel of a rally car. I have no idea what goes on in his head and it seems that neither does he.

  Or maybe that’s not true.

  “Question time,” I tell him.

  “You have to sing it,” he says, but his words falter when he sees the fire in my eyes.

  “I am not singing it in my condition,” I snap at him, but the burst of anger just makes my nose hurt. I take in a deep, calming breath. “But seriously. What is your obsession with high adrenaline and risky sports? Why do you do it?”

  He raises his brow but his amusement is forced. “Tennis is hardly a risky sport. Except maybe for you.”

  “Magnus.”

  He runs his hand through his hair and sits on the edge of the couch, staring out the windows that overlook the fields below the estate. “I don’t know. I like it.”

  “Yeah, but why do you like it? You know that BASE jumping is one of the most dangerous sports in the world and by definition there must be something wrong with you if you actively seek it out.”

  He eyes me sharply. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” Now it’s his turn to turn all snappish. I’ve hit a nerve. “I like it because I like it.”

  “That’s the honest truth? That’s why you risk your life to do it?”

  “I’m not risking my life. I do things by the book. I’m not…reckless.”

  “Some would beg to differ,” I tell him. “I’m sure your family wouldn’t agree with that.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, well, they don’t agree with a lot of things I do.” He presses his lips together for a long moment. “Look. It gives me something that I don’t often have. When I jump, when I’m taking a sharp turn, when I’m flying over a ski hill…when I’m having hot, crazy sex...”

  I swallow hard at the mention of hot, crazy sex, my mind briefly inundated with images of him sweaty and moving on top of me. I push that out of my head, ignore the flush of heat between my legs.

  He goes on. “When I’m doing those things, the world just seems to fit me for once. I can focus. I can think. It’s like the constantly changing TV channels of my brain finally come to a stop on one station and I can actually concentrate for once.”

  What he said actually makes a lot of sense and I have a feeling it’s something he doesn’t talk about often. Or ever.

  He gets up to his feet, seemingly agitated. “Anyway, that’s just the way I am. No point getting all deep and philosophical about it.” He glances down at me. “Want me to take you to your room?”

  I shake my head gently and hold the damp rag to my nose. “No. I’ll be fine. I just want to lie here for a bit.”

  He nods. “Okay. Let Ottar know if you need anything.”

  Then he walks off.

  Clearly my question bothered him but I have a feeling he doesn’t even know why.

  Eleven

  Magnus

  I feel like a total prick.

  All I wanted to do with Ella was play a game of tennis, have some fun, enjoy the sunshine and all that jazz, and I ended up almost breaking her nose. Whether it was going into super competitive mode or just vainly trying to show off, I ruined a pretty good thing we had going on there.

  Okay, well things have been slow going and maybe we aren’t seeking each other out, wanting to spend time together. But for the first time since I met her, it felt less like she was arguing with me because she hated me and more like she was doing it because it was fun.

  Now this has set us back. It didn’t help either that one of her questions actually cut deeper than it should have. I know she was just curious and it shouldn’t have been a big deal but it felt like it for some reason.

  So during these last three days, things are back to being strained. When I do talk to her, she’s a little short with me, maybe because the place starts to feel more like a prison, and as the days tick on by toward the end of our two weeks, I really don’t see how we’re going to come out of this in a positive way. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing her ever again.

  Which, I must admit, sucks.

  I’ve grown to like her.

  A lot.

  I’ve become fascinated with her and I can’t really put my finger on why. Maybe because the more questions I’ve asked her, the more she shows herself to me, reluctantly letting me peel back the layers. She gets softer and bolder at the same time.

  I know she has a complicated relationship with her family and country. She’s hurt and rejected and forever nursing a wound ever since her father shipped her off to boarding school. I can’t imagine what that would be like, to lose your mother so young and then have your only surviving parent send you off like you’re not wanted.

  She hasn’t talked about it at length with me but I can see the hurt in her eyes, her defensiveness in the set of her jaw, the vulnerability in her shoulders. I know that all of that has made her shy and second guess herself over everything it seems. Except for the things she’s passionate about: environmental issues.

  And, well, me.

  Whether she likes me or not, I can’t tell. But I do know she’s passionate about how she feels about me. She’s never afraid to tell me off or voice her opinion around me and I guess that’s why I love rattling her cage so much, because I feel like the more I do it, the more she’ll be set free.

  To just be herself with everyone, and not just me.

  Of course part of the reason why I’m quite besotted with her is because she damn near takes my breath away at any given moment. She’s beautiful every which way but even more so when she’s firing something at me, that wicked glint in her eyes, the way her skin glows, the smile she tries so often to hide but fails.

  If I’m rattling her cage, she’s rattling mine. Only I’m not sure she’d like the animal inside of it.

  But tonight she’s keeping to herself
again and I’m growing anxious at the tension in the house, so I throw on a coat and tell Ottar and Einar that I’d like to head into town. I need a drink, I need out of the house.

  I get into the car and then realize I left my phone in my room. I quickly run into the house, grab it, and then run right into Ella as I shut the door to my room.

  “Where are you going?” she asks. Her nose is no longer swollen but it’s bruised and she has a black eye. She’s done her best to cover it with makeup but I know it’s there. I wince internally.

  “To the bars,” I tell her, slipping my phone into my coat pocket.

  “To do what?”

  I frown. “Drink. Obviously.”

  “With who? Heidi?”

  I’m taken aback by this. “Heidi? That barnacle? No. No one.”

  “So you go to the bars alone?”

  I’m not sure why she sounds so suspicious. Maybe it’s because I’ve been going every single night. Sometimes I wait until after she’s asleep, just because I feel bad that she’s not supposed to go.

  “I have friends I see there,” I say carefully, thinking of Hunchback Harold and the gang.

  “Sure,” she says. “Friends.”

  She turns to leave and I reach out and grab her arm.

  “You think I’ve been leaving every night to see other women?” I ask her, and she raises her chin, not answering. “Ella, the only woman’s legs I want to be between are yours.”

  Her eyes go round like saucers.

  I knew that would get her attention.

  “You’re free to do what you want. I wouldn’t care at all if you were with other women,” she says after a beat, trying to sound casual. But I know better.

  “I think you’re lying,” I tell her, noting the way she’ll only meet my gaze for a second.

  “Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug but I don’t let go of her arm. “To piss me off. You act like it’s your job sometimes.”

  She makes a huffing noise and looks away.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I happen to like it.”

  “I don’t try and piss you off,” she explains. “It just happens naturally.”

  Right. I’m not sure how I can explain to her that the more she fights with me, the more turned on I get. I’ve been walking around with a raging hard-on for most of the week we’ve been here together.