The Wild Heir(50)

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.