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.

“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.”