by Maisey Yates
But then, late that night when he came home again, he checked, and she still hadn’t returned.
He called Astrid. “Do you have any idea where my wife is?”
“No,” said, her voice filled with concern.
“If that bastard Ragnar...”
“Ragnar is dead,” Astrid said.
“What?”
“Latika didn’t tell you?”
“No. I haven’t seen her. When did you discover this?”
“Early the day before yesterday. You haven’t spoken to her since then?”
“I... I haven’t seen her.”
“Gunnar!” Astrid sounded incredulous. “You haven’t seen your wife in two days, your wife has been under threat, and you didn’t think to say anything about it?”
“We don’t go out of our way to spend much time together,” he said, his voice flat.
“I don’t know what’s going on between the two...”
“Nothing,” Gunter said. “Nothing is going on between the two of us.”
“That isn’t right when you’re married.”
“You know we didn’t marry for conventional reasons.”
“Have you tried calling her?” Astrid asked.
“No,” he said. “But I will.”
He hung up the phone, and dialed Latika’s number.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Where are you?” he asked, not waiting for her to speak.
“We don’t need to be together,” she said, sidestepping the question.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ragnar is dead. And the two of us have no reason to continue on with this farce of a marriage. I’ve taken myself away from you, for a reason.”
“What about my reputation?”
“I’ll see that it’s handled,” she said. “I’ll see that there is no doubt that the problem was mine. That it’s my fault the marriage dissolved. I will be held responsible, and your reputation will be intact. The response that has been given to you owning your corporation has been overwhelmingly positive. I think that you’ll find everything will be just fine without me.”
“Latika...”
The line went dead, and she didn’t speak after.
Each attempt at calling her after that was met with dead air. She refused to answer. And because of that, he couldn’t figure out a way to track her phone. He looked for credit cards, and could find nothing.
Any easy paper trail had been erased.
And then, two weeks after his wife had left home, her name popped up in a database. Her real name had been used at a private physician’s office.
One specializing in obstetrics.
Gunnar picked up his phone. “We are going to London.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LATIKA WAS EXHAUSTED by the time she got home. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Honestly, she felt like doing both.
She was pregnant.
Pregnant with Gunnar’s baby.
The exact thing that would have driven their marriage to the brink anyway.
She owed Ragnar a thank you note for dying of a heart attack with such excellent timing.
She was surprised by the way he had died. Considering it never seemed as though he had a heart.
The thought made her laugh. And then she realized she was a crazy person, standing in her empty apartment, shaking and laughing. The news she had been given today was life altering. She hadn’t wanted to be seen out and about purchasing a pregnancy test, nor had she seen the way she could possibly go to a public hospital.
Thankfully, she had so much money squirreled away, that it hadn’t been beyond her to get herself into a private clinic.
She had worn a scarf over her head, and large sunglasses, and it felt ridiculous.
But she seemed to have pulled it off. There were no headlines proclaiming that she was in London, after all.
Incognito still was hindering her new sense of freedom. Perhaps that was why she still felt so heavy.
She was resolute in her purpose. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She only needed a few hours to get everything straight.
And a few hours was all it took. With her press release crafted, she was ready to push it out to new sources.
That her marriage to Gunnar was a sham. That she was the villain. That she had married him under false pretenses, and had later found out she was pregnant with a lover’s baby.
And that she had decided to dissolve the marriage as a result.
Not him.
Gunnar, she would say, had offered to raise the child as its own.
Because when her child looked back on the news stories surrounding his or her birth, she wanted to have that child feel as if they were wanted by everyone.
Especially their father.
Even if they never knew that Gunnar was their actual father. It was sad to think that would be how it was, but it would have to be. It would be better for everyone.
And everyone would be protected. She wished desperately she could have a glass of wine with this upsetting turn of events, but she couldn’t.
Because of the baby.
She smiled, pressing her hand to her stomach.
If nothing else she had purpose now. Maybe it wasn’t wild, giddy freedom. But purpose would be better. Purpose actually made her much, much happier.
She steeled herself, her finger poised to push Send on the press release. And that was when the door to the hotel room opened.
Latika turned, her mouth falling open when she saw him standing there. His expression was grim, an aura of leashed violence around him that she had never before witnessed.
Gunnar excelled in exuding laconic grace.
She had always sensed that there was the potential for danger lurking beneath that exterior. That the way he lounged about the palace in Bjornland was much like a big cat. Watching. Waiting. Incapable of striking with decisive and fatal force in the time that it would take a person to bat an eyelash.
And here it was now. Raw, unvarnished and unconcealed. How had she never seen this before? Gunnar was not a safe space.
Gunnar was lethal.
And she suspected she had crossed him in a way she had not foreseen.
“Feeling relaxed?” he asked.
“I was,” she responded, standing up from the computer and stepping in front of the screen. He walked into the room, closing the door behind him.
“How did you get a key?”
He looked at her, one brow raised. He did not answer her question.
“Ragnar is dead,” she said. “I had no reason to hide in Bjornland anymore. I saw the opportunity to claim my freedom, and I did it. Don’t worry, I will make sure that there is no...”
“You’re pregnant,” he said.
Everything inside of her went still. Her heart thundered. She felt very much like a field mouse under the watchful eye of the lion. She had no hope of pulling a thorn out of his paw and making it better. For he was looking at her as if she was the one who had put it there.
“You don’t want a baby,” she said.
“You should’ve told me.”
“Why? Everything is in hand.”
“How dare you? How dare you flee in the night and take my heir from me.”
His rage was stark. Palpable. And it took all her strength to find a way to speak with that anger, another entity in the room, pressing in on her.
“First of all,” she said, “I took myself from you. I claimed my freedom. I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left you. It had to do with me, not a baby. Second of all, you said unequivocally that you did not want a child. That you would have nothing to do with a child that we created.”
“That is different than allowing my child to be raised away from the palace, and from its
birthright.”
“What birthright? You’re the spare, Gunnar. Every child that Astrid has will be in line before you, and our child would never be in line at all.”
“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that my child receive the rights they are entitled to by birth.”
“But you don’t want them. And I don’t want to subject them to such a thing.”
“And I will not allow this. You think that you can walk away from me? What about our bargain? You cannot step into this space and use me as a safety net and then leave when it suits you.”
“If you’re worried for your precious reputation, don’t be.” She stepped to the side, revealing her computer screen. “I am prepared to absolve you of any wrongdoing. I have prepared a press release, which I’m ready to push the button on. Wherein I declare that this child belongs to a lover that I took before our marriage, and that you offered to give my child your name, and I refused. My reputation will be in tatters, while yours will remain intact. But I don’t care. I care nothing for my reputation, I never wanted notoriety. All I have ever wanted is the chance to live my life on my terms. I’m ready to go off in the country and raise this baby alone. I will be happy doing it.”
It wasn’t sacrifice on her end. It was the pursuit of freedom. The need to cut ties with him utterly and completely. To uphold her end of their bargain so she might walk owing him nothing.
They had married for his reputation, and for her protection.
She no longer needed protection. And if she just lowered herself, her leaving him would allow him to be blameless.
And the slate would be clean between them.
She would finally be free.
“So,” he said, his tone soft. Deadly. “You seek to use me as a sperm donor?”
“Why not?” She lifted her chin up, determined to pour every ounce of defiance she possessed onto him. “Astrid sought to do the same.”
“It didn’t work out for her, did it?”
“Because Mauro has a heart. Because he was willing to cross borders to claim his child. You don’t want yours.”
“Have I not crossed borders?” he asked, throwing his arms wide. “Is this the demonstration you were hoping to see? I passed your purity test that I might be able to be father to my own flesh and blood?”
“You were the one who disavowed him,” she said, advancing on him. “And in so doing, you disavowed me. I will not allow my child a relationship with a father that doesn’t want them. If I do, how am I any different than your mother? How am I any different at all? And how are you different from your father? He didn’t want Astrid. And his desire to be rid of her made him do appalling things to you. Is that what you want? Is that the place you want your child to grow up?”
He went very still. And Latika knew that she had overplayed her hand.
She had been attempting to manipulate, with a knife straight to the heart. But she could see the moment he grabbed the handle of that metaphorical knife, intent on turning it back around.
He closed the space between them, those ice blue eyes cutting her with the chill in them. He stopped when he was a breath away from her, his chest nearly touching her breasts. He leaned in, his mouth set to a grim line. And then he reached past her, grabbing her laptop and wrenching it free of the charger cord.
He threw it down onto the ground and stomped it beneath his shoe.
The screen went fuzzy, then black. Her heart thundered in abject terror, her entire body trembling.
“The child is mine. So are you. If you want to see what I’m capable of, if you want to see the ruthlessness that my father planted into my soul, then you have given yourself a perfect opportunity to do so. My people are descended of Vikings. Do you know what we do when there is something we desire, and it does not belong to us? We take it, and we make it ours. And you, make no mistake, are mine.”
He grabbed hold of her, that large, commanding fist buried in her hair as he pulled her forward, his mouth crashing down on hers. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was melting, the inferno of his rage demolishing each and every one of her defenses.
She could feel it. Like a rally cry inside of her soul.
Surrender.
She shouldn’t want to surrender. It was a foolish thing to do. And it was one she could not afford. And yet, her Viking marauder would accept nothing less, and somehow her body was intent upon allowing it.
Then he picked her up, swept her straight off of her feet, and carried her into the bedroom.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GUNNAR’S RAGE WAS a living thing. Boiling over, spilling out of control.
Latika had said that he was like his father. And he couldn’t find it in himself to fight the ways in which that might be true. He was failing. And yet... She was in his arms. She was clinging to him, kissing him back like liquid fire. And he could do nothing to deny himself. With blinding heat, blinding needs, pulsing behind his eyes, and hard, heady desire pulsing through him he could do nothing but stake his claim.
If it was in his blood, if it was inevitable, then he would surrender.
The bedroom in the hotel suite she was occupying had large windows, overlooking the neon and chaos of the city. It was all noise, next to the sophisticated serenity that Latika possessed. She was dressed simply today, and a black dress that hugged her luscious body, cut off just above the knee.
It was demure, really. And yet, it ignited a fire in his veins that would rival the forge of any dwarf king found in the stories his nannies had told him as a boy.
And indeed, his need was honed to a sharpened edge, like an axe. And when it fell, it would be decisive and deadly. He took her to the window, turned her so that she was facing out.
“You know how I got in here,” he said. “I was handed a key. Because you are mine, and the world knows it. Everyone down there... They would not lift a finger to take you out of my custody. You are mine. The whole world knows.” He gripped the zipper on her dress and pulled it down, letting it fall off of her body, and pool at her feet.
She was wearing black underwear, lace and revealing, highlighting the curves of her delicious ass. He pushed his hand beneath the waistband, grabbing a handful of soft, plump flesh. Before pushing his hand further between her thighs, feeling how wet she was.
“You desire me even now. You ran from me, and you still desire me.”
“We all want things that we despise,” she said.
“Do we? Or do bodies sometimes know better than our minds?”
“My heart wants nothing to do with you.”
“And yet.” He leaned in, toying with her between her legs. “Tell me no. If you don’t want this. If you don’t want me. Tell me no.”
“Bastard,” she spat.
“Does my touch disgust you?” He drew his fingers across that place where he knew she was most sensitive. She gasped, rolling her hips forward. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I can see the way I disgust you. So much that you’re on the verge of coming...out of your skin.”
“Let me go,” she said. “You don’t want me. You don’t want the baby.”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” he said, stroking her in time with his words. “Don’t speak to me like you know. Tell me what you want. Tell me if you want me to stop.”
Again, she did. She simply stood, vibrating with fury and need as he stroked her. And he was filled with just enough rage over her abandonment to continue to push. “Are you afraid that if you push me too hard I’ll disappear, never to return? Because you can profess to hate me all you want, because you love what I do to your body. I’m sure being a Duchess doesn’t hurt.”
“I don’t give a damn about being your Duchess.”
“But you do give a damn about pleasure, don’t you? Is it wounding, to discover you’re just as base as the rest of us? So many years of abstinence for you, darling Latika, only to be undone s
o resolutely by my touch. That must be extremely confronting for you.”
“Are you going to do something? Are you going to stand there all night with your hands between my legs halfheartedly pleasuring me.”
“Oh,” he said. “My mistake. Did you want me to put some effort into it?”
He turned around so that she was facing him, and unhooked her bra, throwing it down to the ground, then he dragged her panties down, pressing a kiss to her ankle, her calf, her thigh before standing. Her eyes glittered with rage, her frame shaking.
“One last chance, darling. Tell me no.”
Her dark eyes glittered with rage and desire. “Go to hell.”
“I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes.”
He crushed her up against his body, reveling in the feel of all that soft skin beneath his hands, while he remained fully clothed. He kissed her then, pouring all of the fury and outrage that he felt into her body. Into her soul.
If she thought he was a monster, she would get a monster.
He stripped his clothes off quickly, then lifted her up, set her down on the bed. He maneuvered her so that she was on her knees, her thighs thick and luscious, her waist slim. Her breasts heavy. He stroked himself twice, looking at the picture that she made.
“That’s more like it,” he said. “On your knees, showing a bit of deference to your King. But I should like a bit of praise from your mouth.”
She looked up at him, the reluctant hunger on her face an aphrodisiac. He pressed the head of his masculinity to her lips and he saw the moment she surrendered to her need. Her tongue darted out, touching the tip of him and then she opened wide, taking him and as far as she could.
He grabbed hold of her hair, guiding her movements as she pleasured him. And somehow, the game they were playing got lost. Got all tangled up in the dark, deep pleasure threatening to overwhelm him.
Because he could not remember why he was angry anymore. And he could not remember why he had thought allowing her to put her lips on him would give him the power. For she held in her hand the most vulnerable part of him. And he was a slave to the need that she created, with clever fingers and lips and tongue.