Ragnar - Lord of Jaegar

by Sasha Gold

  “My recovery is a medical miracle,” Birgitta murmured as she studied several swaths of material. She was trying to decide between colors for the drapes in the baby’s nursery.

  Natasha smiled, but her sister furrowed her brow and looked like she wanted to say something sassy in response. Natasha and Birgitta got along well enough, but Elise liked to tease people anytime she got a chance. She especially liked to give Birgitta a bad time about her claims of feeling unwell. Several times, Elise had come close to calling the Jaegarian matriarch a hypochondriac.

  Elise had arrived that morning unannounced to lend a hand with the nursery. This was her third visit since she’d escaped the Fargian prison. Her stay at the famed prison lasted less than an afternoon. Elise liked to gloat that she stayed for lunch and then left so she wouldn’t have to do the dishes or spend the night on a flea-infested cot. Escaping Fargian was child’s play, she liked to tell anyone who would listen.

  Elise might be cocky, but there was one person who intimidated her. Gunnar. She only came to visit when she was certain Gunnar was away. She liked to pretend no one scared her and enjoyed teasing Birgitta about her lengthy spans of bedrest.

  “You seem to be feeling rather well,” Elise said pointedly.

  Natasha narrowed her eyes, but Elise ignored her.

  “I am feeling rather well, you saucy girl. Bring me the stack of linens on the table so I can compare thread count. Go on,” Birgitta commanded. “Make yourself useful.”

  Natasha stifled her laughter. Since Elise had staked a claim to Cresenta and led a movement to offer asylum to vulnerable Maidens and Nymphs, she’d become even more domineering. She wasn’t used to taking orders. Natasha waited for her sister’s sharp reply, but instead Elise did as she was told. Birgitta winked at Natasha.

  Elise retrieved the linens and brought them to Birgitta, setting them on the table.

  “Tell me you’ll stay for supper, Elise,” Birgitta said.

  Her sister’s usual smirk faded. She pressed her lips together and averted her eyes. “I don’t think so. I’ve heard Gunnar will return to Jaegar soon.”

  “Exactly. You two need to make amends. Family is the most important thing to me. I want my grandchildren to know their Aunty Elise. How can they spend time with you if you come and go like a thief in the night?”

  Elise’s jaw dropped. “I’m not a thief.”

  Natasha sighed. This again. Elise maintained that she hadn’t done anything wrong or should be absolved from her transgressions since she’d given her stolen riches to support a noble cause.

  Birgitta arched a brow and searched the stack of linens, scrutinizing the various colors. “I’ve absolved you from any wrongdoing against Jaegar, but if you continue to steal from Gunnar, I can’t help or give much protection. You’ll have to offer him penance.”

  Natasha blinked and looked from Birgitta to Elise and back to Birgitta. “What? You’re stealing from Gunnar?”

  Elise’s face colored.

  “You’re blushing…” Natasha said. “I’ve never seen you blush before.”

  Elise’s eyes widened, and she set her hands on her flaming cheeks. “I just took a few things from him. I didn’t think he’d miss them.”

  Natasha could hardly believe what she heard. Elise might be reckless, but she was brave and noble and more idealistic than anyone she knew. What on earth was wrong with her? “You stole? Again? From Gunnar?”

  Elise squeezed her eyes shut, then drew a slow shuddering breath and when she opened her eyes again, she’d recovered her composure. She gave Natasha a haughty look and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Even though Birgitta has forgiven me, Gunnar hasn’t. He’s put a bounty on my head.” To make her point clear, Elise pointed to her temple. Her eyes flashed with indignation. “My head!”

  Natasha threw her hands in the air. “Well, that makes all the sense in the world. He put a bounty on you, so you had to steal from him. What did you take?”

  “Two shirts and his shaving brush,” Birgitta said.

  Natasha gaped, waiting for Elise to deny the accusations.

  Elise tapped her chin. “The shaving brush was a mistake. I realized later that any man would notice that his shaving brush was missing.”

  “Why did you take his things?” Natasha demanded. “Why, Elise?”

  Elise shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s sent me a few messages and he’s always taunting me. Telling me how when he finds me, he’ll make sure I’m very sorry I ever took anything from him. For some reason, that made me want to steal a few other personal items. Just to show him.”

  “To show him what, exactly?” Natasha asked.

  “That he couldn’t say those things to me. He said I needed a good spanking.”

  Elise shuddered and hugged her arms tighter around her chest. Natasha’s gaze drifted down her sister’s face, past her shoulders to her shirt. The drab, Cresenta shirt stretched across her sister’s chest. The material straining at the buttons.

  Birgitta scoffed. “He doesn’t want you to come to any harm. My son isn’t a monster. He simply wants to discuss a few things with you.”

  Natasha, too stunned to add to Birgitta’s comments, let her gaze drift down Elise’s body. Her sister’s pants, normally a little too long, stopped at her ankles. Elise held her gaze and shook her head.

  “What do you do with his shirts?” Natasha asked slowly.

  Elise shrugged. “They happen to be very warm. I’ve slept in them. Once. Maybe twice.”

  Natasha understood immediately. Elise liked Gunnar’s scent. One of the first things Natasha had noticed about Ragnar was his addicting scent. There was something about it that made her usually ordered thoughts fall into complete turmoil.

  “And you like the way Gunnar’s scent clings to the fabric, don’t you?”

  Elise grimaced. “Don’t be disgusting.”

  Birgitta tossed the fabrics down, giving up any pretense of selecting something for the drapes. “I don’t know why you and Gunnar are squabbling, but it’s unbecoming, Elise. He’s the leader of my military and you’re the leader of Cresenta.”

  “And I’ve been avoiding my responsibilities on Cresenta, because I never know when Gunnar might appear and interrogate me. Or whatever he wants to do to me. I only return when I think it’s safe and I never stay long. I’m practically a fugitive.”

  Natasha shook her head. “I’d take out the word practically.”

  Elise narrowed her eyes.

  Birgitta waved a dismissive hand. “You only have yourself to blame. The more you tease Gunnar with your ridiculous antics, the more difficult it will be for the two of you to make peace.”

  Elise gave an air of complete indifference. “I’m not trying to make peace with Gunnar. I don’t need to. I’ll come to visit Natasha and the baby when he’s away.”

  “You should meet and talk. Face to face,” Birgitta said. “Ragnar can mediate.”

  Natasha frowned at Birgitta. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Gunnar has a little bit of a temper. He wouldn’t harm a woman, of course. That’s against our code, but still… it wouldn’t hurt to have a third party present.”

  “I could mediate,” Natasha said.

  Elise stomped her foot. “I don’t need a mediator.”

  “You can’t mediate,” Birgitta said. “Not in your condition.”

  Natasha set her hand over her stomach. The response was reflexive, a protective gesture she’d made even before she’d confirmed her pregnancy. During the day, or even when she slept, her hand would drift to her stomach. At night, Ragnar lay behind her, sheltering her with his powerful frame. He liked to hold her and cover her hand with his. She showed no signs of pregnancy and wouldn’t for several Lunaria, but she liked to imagine their child, growing inside her.

  “If Ragnar is there, he can maintain order and keep Gunnar from…” Birgitta’s words drifted off.

  Without asking, Natasha knew what concerned Birgitta. She worried Gunnar might
become so incensed he’d shift and frighten Elise. Her sister didn’t know the men had wolves and often shifted when angered.

  “Let me ask you this, Elise.” Birgitta lowered her voice. “Do you steal from others, or is it just Gunnar?”

  “Just Gunnar,” Elise smirked. “No one’s ever made me as angry as Gunnar Helmsgaard.”

  Natasha shook her head with disbelief. Elise couldn’t be smitten with Gunnar. Natasha could hardly imagine Elise and Gunnar in the same room, much less talking amiably with each other. They were like oil and water. A romance between the two wasn’t possible, but something had her Maiden’s build growing more curved. Fuller breasts. Rounder hips and lush thighs. Maybe it was being around all the children on Cresenta. Maybe it was because of Natasha’s pregnancy. Twins had eerie connections. Perhaps Elise underwent some of the same changes.

  Ragnar loved the way pregnancy had transformed Natasha. Elise probably hated carrying any extra weight. She would consider it unmaidenly and unbecoming. Maidens prided themselves on many thing, especially their slim, athletic builds. And Elise prided herself on more things than most Maidens.

  “I should go,” Elise said. “Gunnar might return to Jaegar earlier.”

  “Promise me,” Birgitta said. “The next time you come, you’ll sit down with Gunnar and Ragnar.”

  Elise’s expression remained impassive. “If you want me to I will.”

  Birgitta beamed and gathered Elise into her arms. “Oh darling, I’m so glad you’ve agreed. I can’t stand family strife. It makes me feel positively ill.”

  Elise glanced at Natasha, looking over Birgitta’s shoulder and rolled her eyes. She mouthed the word faker.

  Natasha responded by mouthing liar.

  Birgitta stepped back, cupped Elise’s shoulders and gave her a stern look. “You already missed your sister’s bonding ceremony. I’m planning a grand celebration for the baby announcement. Everyone’s coming. And when the baby arrives, your sister will want you near. Sisters need each other when their time is near, during birth and after, too.”

  Elise’s smug expression faltered. Her eyes filled with unease. The silence hung heavily in the room until finally, Elise nodded. “All right, Birgitta. That gives me a little time.” Her voice cracked with a hint of emotion, something Natasha had never heard from her sister. Elise laughed breathlessly. “A little time to gather my courage…”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading my story. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving me a review on Amazon.com and other book review sites. And sign up for my mailing list at www.sashagoldbooks.com where I will notify you of future releases, exclusive offers and bonus material. – Sasha

  Now, as promised, please enjoy Kept by the Billionaire in its entirety.

  From the cover

  Will Branson – I’ve got a mail order bride on the way

  I need a mother for the nephew I’m raising. And I need a wife to warm my bed. What don’t I need? To waste a bunch of time romancing a fiancée. After all, I have a 20,000-acre ranch to run. Lucky for me, I have deep pockets and people to handle things.

  The firm that takes care of my investments will pick a bride for me. I’m paying Atkinson and Wainwright a small fortune to sort through the candidates. They’re sending a woman to my ranch for a week. If we get along, we’ll tie the knot, and I’ll go back to business as usual.

  But one look at Rebecca, and I know. She’s the one. She’s beautiful. Sweet. Innocent. I’m supposed to take it slow, but her lush curves and honeyed scent shred my self-control.

  Our wedding night can’t come fast enough.

  Rebecca Bloom – I’m determined to make a good impression on my first job

  What do I need? To impress the heck out of my billionaire client, Mr. Will Branson. Atkinson and Wainwright manages wealth for the mega-rich. I’m their newest intern and they’re sending me on a special job to set up a non-profit.

  Lucky for me my new client seems to like me. A lot.

  But Mr. Branson makes me nervous. His slow smile. His rugged good looks and his powerful build make my heart flip every time he’s near. I’m trying to keep things professional but it’s not easy when Mr. Handsome Branson keeps giving me that sexy smile and smoldering gaze.

  It’s almost like he thinks I’m here for way more than an accounting job…

  Kept by the Billionaire - Chapter One

  Rebecca

  “Miss Rebecca Bloom,” the voice calls from the crowded airport. I hear the man’s deep voice but I don’t see him. The secretary at the investment firm where I work told me Mr. Branson would send a driver to pick me up at the Colter Canyon Regional Airport. I assumed he would send one of his ranch hands. All I knew, for sure, was that it wouldn’t be Will Branson. The billionaire rancher never leaves his ranch, not since the accident.

  Never.

  A man strides toward me with a friendly smile, and as he draws near, he swipes the hat from his head. He’s older, maybe sixty, but he’s wiry and tanned, a body hewn from decades of hard, outdoor work.

  “Knew it was you the minute I stepped through the door.” He offers his hand. “Davy Ralston, foreman of Branson Ranch.” His palm is calloused and rough.

  I’d like to point out that the airport isn’t exactly huge, and I’m one of the only women here, certainly the only one in a skirt and heels. Mostly it’s men in cowboy hats and jeans, and a few who look liked they just dismounted a bull at the local rodeo. But me… I dressed carefully this morning, one hundred percent professional accountant, and I brushed my teeth twice… anything to help me from being so nervous about making a good impression on my first solo assignment.

  “Should I get a cart for my bags?” I ask Davy.

  “Nah, I got ‘em.”

  Davy grabs my two suitcases, lifting them like they’re no more than a couple sacks of flour and heads toward the doors. He doesn’t give a backward glance and must assume I’m following. I’m trying to do just that, but it’s not easy in heels and a pencil skirt.

  I’m a new hire at the agency. I’ve only completed two years of school, though, so I’m the lowest one on the totem pole. I’m competing with twelve other candidates for four full-time jobs that come with a ton of benefits and a salary I cannot believe. The company specializes in wealth management for the uber-rich. We manage investments, everything from real estate to fine art, jewelry, oversees holdings, intellectual property… everything.

  We don’t just manage money. We pretty much do anything our clients ask, from tending portfolios to catering to their every whim. If a client wants a world-class chef to cook for his wife’s birthday party, we make that happen. Or when a spoiled heiress demands a horseback riding lesson from an Olympic medalist, we deliver.

  The super-rich have strange tastes. And they can have anything they want.

  My first week on the job, I had to find a male escort for an elderly widow. A hot dude who wouldn’t mind signing a confidentiality agreement and spend the evening with a woman old enough to be his grandmother. The woman wanted some cute young thing to squire her to a gala in New York. She had to be almost eighty but that didn’t stop her from demanding an underwear model. And he had to be six feet tall. Exactly.

  The super-rich are all about the details. Even a lowly minion like me needs to pay close attention and get everything right, especially if she wants to make the step from candidate to freshman. The employees at the firm move up a ladder with mysterious names. They haven’t even told me what comes after freshman. I asked Lillian, my supervisor, if it was sophomore and she rolled her eyes.

  Information is on a need-to-know basis.

  It’s a relief to be out of the office this week. Atkinson and Wainwright will be a great place to make a career, but it is high stress and high politics, always. Spending the week at the Branson Ranch should be a nice diversion, like a working vacation.

  Davy reaches the doors to the parking lot and finally he turns around to see where I am. I’m thirty feet behind. He gives me
a sheepish, good-natured smile. “Sorry ‘bout that. I should have waited on you. Forgetting my manners.”

  He holds the door for me and we walk out into the hot Texas afternoon. He slows his pace to match mine, not offering much in the way of conversation, but it’s a companionable silence. His boots thump the asphalt as we cross the parking lot, which is filled with pickup trucks. When we get to his truck, a dually, he opens the door for me and sets my bags in the backseat.

  “How long is the drive to the ranch?” I ask him.

  “About an hour. You need anything in town?”

  “No, thank you.”

  My heart hammers against my ribs. Soon I’ll meet Will Branson, the famous recluse. Famous recluse… seems like a contrary phrase. Like jumbo shrimp or something like that, but that’s what Mr. Branson is, a mega-wealthy, lone wolf.

  I’ve been a bundle of nerves ever since I found out about this job. I’m not sure why they would send me, the newest hire, to work on such a big account. Will Branson is worth billions. He inherited some from his parents, but most he made buying and selling land when he was in his twenties.

  I keep telling myself I can do this, but deep down, I’m not so sure. Even worse, the ranch is remote. There’s no cell service so I won’t be able to text friends from school if I run into a snag.

  My assignment is to set up a nonprofit for Mr. Branson. He apparently has a thing for wild mustangs. It’s a pet project of his. My instructions were to find out about the ranch and what it will cost to care for the wild horses.

  I’ve done something like this once before. A client wanted to set up a nonprofit to rescue hairless cats. She figured it would be a way to shelter some of her millions from Uncle Sam.

  It only takes five minutes to get clear of Colter Canyon’s stoplights and stop signs. Once Davy gets the truck up to highway speed he snaps on the radio, filling the cab with country music.