The Wild Heir(51)

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.

“Okay.” I watch as I slip my hand down over her forearm to her delicate wrist, wrapping my fingers around it. I can feel her pulse racing against my skin and slowly look up to meet her eyes. “Just so you know, the more you get all mouthy with me, the more I think about what other things your mouth might be able to do.”

She stiffens and tries to yank her wrist away but I hold on. “You’re a brute.”

I raise my brows and smile. “A brute? I like that. Isn’t there a cologne called brute?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re a caveman. No class.”

“Ouch,” I say mockingly, rubbing my thumb along the soft skin of her inner wrist. I take a step toward her. “You insulted my social standing. How will I ever recover? I know, perhaps I’ll become king one day. That should solve the class problem.”

“Having a high social standing, money, or position of power has nothing to do with class and you know it. You can still be king, but you’ll be a crude one.”

“Then wouldn’t it make sense to have a sweet queen at my side? Life is all about balance.”

“I am not sweet and you know it,” she says.

I suck my bottom lip in for a moment and her eyes follow. Fucking hell, if I could just figure out whether she’s attracted to me or not it would be so damn helpful.

“The thing is, Princess, you are sweet. You’re spicy too. You’re a lot of different flavors I haven’t even had the chance to lick yet.”

Her cheeks burn and she shakes her head. “Why do I even bother with you?”

“I’m not sure. Why do you?”

“You’re a hestkuk.”

I blink at her for a moment, my hand dropping away. Then I erupt into laughter, not believing she just said that.

“What? You called me a hestkuk?” I manage to say between laughs. “Where did you learn that? Do you even know what it means?”

“I asked Ottar to tell me a swear in case I needed it. He said it meant asshole. You know, more than drittsekk.” A flash of worry comes over her eyes. “Doesn’t it?”

“It’s actually very close to English,” I tell her. “It means horse cock. But your pronunciation is spot-on.”

“Horse cock!?” she repeats indignantly. “How is that an insult?”