A Nordic King(53)

“Welcome to my world,” I say with a laugh. “I’m still trying to figure out every second word spoken here. Lord knows what I’ve been agreeing to half the time.”

“Hmmm,” he says thoughtfully between sips of his drink. “Had I known that, I would have spoken Danish more. See what you’d agree to.”

Butterflies burn in my stomach from that comment. There’s something teasing and light about him right now. Dare I say it’s sexual innuendo.

I raise a brow at him. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Because Christmas can be depressing sometimes and, well, you’re never in a good mood.”

“You think so highly of me, even after that gift.”

I chew on my lip for a moment, trying to conjure up the right words. “You really shouldn’t have given that to me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t … I’m not deserving of it.”

His brows knit together and he leans forward in his chair to look at me closer. “Why would you ever believe that?”

I shrug. Because it’s true. I try not to dwell on it, but it’s true.

“Aurora,” he says, his voice so low and velvety that I feel it under my skin, “you deserve that vase and more. You have no idea what you’ve done for this family. No idea at all.”

Another shrug. “I do what any nanny would do.”

“Not even close. You don’t even do what some mothers would do. You are always going above and beyond for them. More than that, you let them be who they need to be without trying to contain them, without putting them in a box. They’ve never had that before, and it’s what I’ve always wanted for them. It’s what I never had growing up. You have such a big, beating heart and you love them and they feel that. You have no idea how invaluable that is. It’s worth more than a vase. It’s worth more than I can ever give you.”

I glance at him, lost in his eyes, in his words. He has no idea that he’s wrong. That there is more that he can give me.

His heart. He can give me his heart.

I’ve never wanted anything more.

But of course I can’t say that, so I don’t say anything. I press my lips together and keep all those secret wants and fears and desires locked in.

Bloody hell.

I think I’m in love with my boss.

A king.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“Are you alright?” he asks me.

I blink, trying to clear my head so I can deal with this realization, this blow, another time.

That I love him.

“I’m fine,” I say quietly, avoiding his probing eyes, ignoring the concern in his rich voice. “I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

I get to my feet just as he gets to his feet and reaches out, grabbing my arm.

“I haven’t dismissed you,” he says, and though I know he’s joking, his eyes are dead serious. Maybe they’re more than serious. They’re wild again, searching my face with quiet desperation.

I err on the side of caution and take the playful route, very aware that he’s still grasping my arm, standing close. His cheeks are a little flushed, from the fire and the brandy. This could all go a million ways but it most likely won’t go the way I want it.

“Permission to be dismissed,” I say with a small smile. “Your Majesty.”

His grip on my arm tightens. “Permission denied.”

“Then you better start paying me overtime,” I say, and he takes a step toward me, until there’s barely any space between my chest and his. The energy radiating from him is overwhelming, enveloping me like a black hole until I’m sure there’s no escape.

He gazes down at me, lost in thought. His lower jaw is tense, as if he’s holding something back. He’s so restrained. What would he be like if he let loose? What would he say?

What does he want from me right now?

Is it possible that he wants the same thing that I do?

I want to stop hiding how I feel. I want it all to be allowed, to be okay.

I want him with a need so deep that I feel ravenous to the bottom of my core.

Just as I’m thinking he might kiss me, just as I’m thinking I might do something stupid like kiss him, or worse, blurt out that I love him, he takes his other hand and ever so gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes absently gliding over my face as he does so.

“Merry Christmas, Aurora,” he says softly, his fingers running down my neck, my shoulder, my arm. “Goddess.”

My heart flips.

Goddess.

I manage to swallow, even though my throat and mouth have dried up and every inch of my body feels like it’s coming alive.

“Merry Christmas, Aksel.” I pause. “King.”

His touch falls away from my skin, and I’m free to go.

But even as I turn and walk away from him, I’m not free at all.

My heart belongs to him now.

Even if he doesn’t know it.





Chapter 13





Aksel





January





“That was one hell of a present, Aksel,” Stella says to me as she sips her coffee.