The Wild Heir(96)

Magnus looks up from my neck, staring right into my eyes, his wet hair slick. His breath is ragged and rough as he moves in and out of me, picking up the pace. But his brown eyes never break from mine and I watch as the fire inside them builds, just as it builds inside me.

I can’t hang on anymore. Either onto this control or onto the chain. “Oh, fuck, Magnus,” I cry out softly. “I’m coming.”

“Fuck,” he swears, his eyes snapping shut as he thrusts in harder, deeper, his fingers on my clit rubbing me to completion. My fingers slip away from the chain and I’m holding onto him desperately as my legs convulse, trying to keep from drowning as I let go and he pumps into me until he’s grunting and cursing into my shoulder, finding his own release.

When I’ve finally caught my breath, I lift my head and give him a lopsided smile. “Happy honeymoon to me.”

He kisses me softly on the lips before he slowly pulls out of me. “Happy honeymoon to both of us.” He tucks himself back into his shorts. “How would you rate me on that one?”

I grin happily. “Ten out of ten.”

“You hear that Einar?!” he yells. “Ten out of ten!”



Even though we were only away for a week, I feel like a different person by the time I return to Thornfield Hall. Not only are Magnus and I both tanned and glowing (okay, so I’m still a shade of pale with the addition of a few freckles), but I feel like a giant weight has been lifted. Now, looking around at this place, it feels like ours and ours alone.

Well, aside from the fact that we share it with Jane and Einar and Ottar and a bevy of cooks and drivers and cleaners. But even so, it’s ours and we’re putting our own stamp on things. Literally, too. We got our own official stamp after we got married, not to mention a coin.

I have so many plans to get started on. I want to get a dog, I want to start redecorating some of the rooms, I want to start horseback riding lessons, I want to start planning my non-profit organization. I want to jump into this new life with both feet.

Today, though, it’s all about sitting together with Magnus in the parlor room and going through all the wedding gifts and writing out thank-you cards.

With the snow falling lightly outside, hot cocoa drinks at our sides and a roaring fire, it’s actually quite enjoyable.

For me, anyway. I can tell this is boring Magnus to tears, having to sit here and do this.

“We can make it a game,” I tell him. “To make it more interesting and fun.”

He sighs dramatically. “No. It’s fine.” He pauses. “Can’t you just forge my signature?”

“No,” I tell him and then watch as he reaches behind a couch pillow and pulls out a bottle of something and pours it in his hot chocolate. “What is that?”

“Medicine,” he says. “To keep me from dying of boredom.” I roll my eyes. I can smell the whisky from here.

He picks up what looks to be a paper-mache crown out of a box and glances at the card. “I mean what is this? And why did the Duke of Cornhole send this to us?”

I snatch the paper-mache mess from his hands. “It’s Duke of Cornwall. As in Prince Charles, you shitbag. Have some respect.”

“Respect? You’re the one who just called me a shitbag.”

“I always call you that.”

He sighs again and scribbles something on the card then hands it to me. “Exceptionally yours?” I read it out loud.

“That’s my calling card.”

“You could just write thank you.”

“I could but that has a better ring to it, don’t you think? Exceptionally Yours, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Magnus of Norway.”

“That’s quite the mouthful.”

He wags his brows at me and gives me a salacious grin. “You know I am.”

Suddenly a loud, frantic knocking at the door makes us all jump, including Einar who has been sitting in the corner of the room and doing his best to ignore our bickering.

“Are we expecting anyone?” I ask as Einar strides across the room and disappears into the hall. Jane went into town with Ottar, but they shouldn’t be back for another few hours.

“God, I hope it’s not the Duke of Cornhole,” Magnus says, getting to his feet. “With those ears, I bet he hears everything.”

I hear the front door open and Einar talking to someone in Norwegian. He sounds rather gruff and angry and I can’t understand what he’s saying.

“What is he saying?” I ask Magnus, but Magnus is already heading out into the hall. I catch a look of fear in his eyes.

This isn’t good.

I get up from the couch and hurry after them.

I round the corner into the foyer and stop dead in my tracks when I see who is at the door.

Heidi Fucking Lundstr?m.

Standing there in a big, furry coat that makes me cringe thinking how many bears probably died for it, holding a manila envelope in her hand. Behind her in the driveway is a waiting car with the prime minister’s insignia on it.

Her eyes are wild and dark as she looks at Magnus, shaking the envelope at him and the moment she spots me, they seem to turn into something more wicked.

“I guess you need to hear this too,” she says in English.

Magnus gives me a wide-eyed look, his jaw firm, shaking his head for me to stay back, but there’s no way that is happening.