Ulrik
"Do you come here so often that you can now get a discount?" I wondered.
"It's one of the perks of living with the owner slash chef of the place."
The idea that she shared her life with whoever ran this restaurant displeased me. That notion, as intrusive as it was unwelcome, scratched the back of my brain for a moment, clawing its way into my mind. I had just met the woman; she owed me nothing, and I shouldn't have any expectations. In fact, I shouldn't even be surprised that such a clever and stunning creature had found someone desirous to claim her.
"In what capacity?" The words left my mouth before I could reason with myself.
"Excuse me?"
"The owner, in what manner do you live together?"
She straightened in her chair, her knee accidentally bumping into mine. Her face was slowly turning into a scowl, as though she disliked the direction the conversation had taken. Fuck, I should have held my tongue.
"This isn't any of your concern, sir."
"I'm simply making conversation."
"I don't think you'd be asking Henry that sort of question if you'd taken him out instead of me."
"Oh, but you're wrong, miss. If it was him in front of me, I'd ask if there's anything going on between you two. And if he answered no, I'd ask him if you have anything going on with anyone."
Her lush lips parted as she processed my words, conveying her confusion. Was it really so surprising that I could be hitting on her? As a gorgeous woman, she ought to be used to piquing men's interests.
"You know you can't...seduce me or sweet talk me into giving you the sword, right?" she warily asked.
"Is it what I'm doing?"
"It looks an awful lot like it, yes."
"Miss Connelly, the sword is the last thing on my mind at the moment. You're the one who keeps bringing it up."
As ludicrous as it may be, it was true. I should have been all over that sword. It should have been my only concern, my ultimate priority. But it seemed I'd found a subject that interested me more. At least in an immediate manner. I'd handle the sword later, but for now, she had my undivided attention.
She frowned again, avoiding my gaze as she debated whether or not I was being truthful. She'd been honest when she'd told me she was on the fence.
"There's nothing going on between Henry and me," she revealed, still somewhat conflicted. "He's happily engaged and marrying his fiancée next spring. As for Gigi, she's my platonic soulmate. We've been living together for two and a half years now, because the rents in London are a joke."
While she'd only answered part of my question, I was thankful for the clarification. Maybe she was seeing someone at the moment, but at least she wasn't so involved in a romantic relationship that she'd live with them.
The waiter came back with a bottle of French wine, and we remained silent while he opened it. When he asked who wanted to taste it, I gestured her way, so he poured a small amount of sauvignon blanc into her glass. She then brought the delicate rim of it to her lips and sampled a mouthful of the golden liquid. After some moment with it in her mouth, she swallowed and nodded her approval.
The waiter finished pouring wine into her glass and then filled mine before leaving the bottle between us.
"What about you?" she asked once he was gone, boldly meeting my eyes. Although she tried to act unfazed, I guessed the nervousness lying under her detached expression.
This proof that she was interested in the answer delighted me. "I haven't had anyone meaningful in my life for a long time."
She nodded, staring at her glass of wine. "I imagine women don't enjoy it too much when you swoop in to crush their hopes and dreams."
The cynicism of her tone caught me by surprise, and a frank laugh erupted from my throat before I could prevent it. "To be fair, this isn't normally the way I go at it," I explained once it had passed. "I'm normally a lot more charming and pleasant."
"I have yet to witness it."
The intensity with which I wanted this woman increased every time she opened her mouth. Even if it was for a jab at my expense. Or especially if it was.
"Tell me, Miss Connelly, how does an American end up working for the Viking department of a museum all the way to England?"
"With hard work and dedication, as we've already established."
"But why this topic in particular?"
"History has always been at the center of my life—through my father. And when I discovered Vikings and Norse mythology, it just clicked. I found all that fascinating, and I wanted to know more. Back then, we spoke about them a lot less than we did Egyptians or Romans and their old gods."
"So, in a way, you were drawn to Vikings?"
"I still am."
A grin stretched my mouth in anticipation of my next playful teasing. "So, as a Viking descendant myself, I may have a chance."
"I'm afraid you're much too contemporary for me. I like old and dusty antiques, remember?"
The way she looked at me, with that crooked, half-hidden smile, and those eyes that were so effortlessly seductive, caused blood to travel south again. My cock was in a constant state of partial swelling, perpetually aware of how remarkably attractive she was—mind and body. At this rate, I'd be rock hard by the time this lunch ended.
I'd have to thank Henrikson for that email, and not only for the sword.
Someone was suddenly at our side with two plates, but it wasn't our waiter this time. Instead, it was a petite woman with a plump figure, light brown skin, and washed-out blue hair with dark roots that were tied in a vague bun, some short strands loose on the back of her head. She was wearing a dark T-shirt from a random rock band, and over it, a flowery apron. On her arms, I could see several tattoos, small and inconsistent, and on her nose, two rings—one on the left side, and one in the middle.
In front of me, Miss Connelly's face illuminated upon seeing the newcomer. "Hi, you," she greeted her with a bright smile.
"Hi, sweets. I'm glad to see you're finally trying my lobster rolls." She settled the plates in front of us, and then turned to me with curious eyes. "And who might that be? Did you finally get yourself a sugar daddy?"
"Gigi!" Miss Connelly scolded her, acute embarrassment flooding her.
"Are you the reason why she didn't come home last night?" the woman then asked me with amusement, setting a hand over the round curve of her hip.
"Alas, I'm afraid I wasn't the cause of that." For Miss Connelly's sake, I tried to hide just how much I enjoyed this interaction. I was most likely failing.
"Grace Prisha Khan, this is a work lunch! And I told you I was working late yesterday."
"Oh, shit... Sorry." She didn't seem sorry at all, though, barely containing her hilarity. "Ignore me and go back to your businessing." Before she left, she came closer to me, which brought to my nose aromas she'd carried with her from the kitchen. "We do need a sugar daddy, though, to help with her two hundred cats and my three thousand plants. Just letting you know that the option is on the table."
"I'll try to remember that," I chuckled. With a mischievous wink, she left us alone, back to her kitchen.
Miss Connelly was sitting low in her chair, as if she was trying to disappear into the cushioned seat. With her delicate hand, she was pinching the bridge of her nose, looking at her lap while she gathered herself. After a few seconds, she straightened up and grabbed her fork and knife, looking at the toasted brioche on her plate.
"I'm so sorry about that."
"You did nothing wrong."
"Well, I brought us here. Maybe I should have picked a more professional setting."
"I don't mind," I reassured her. "Your roommate looks like a lot of fun."
"Oh, she is. Loads of it. But she's not the best at...formal interactions."
"I gathered that much, yes." I laughed again before eyeing my dish. It looked mighty good, but I wasn't sure how to eat it. Miss Connelly used her knife to cut herself a piece of bread with some lobster in it and then dipped it in the small bowl of mayonnaise.
I did the same, and the flavors exploded on my tongue when I chewed. Alright, now I understood why there were so many people in here. It might not look like much, but this Gigi knew what she was doing.
"So, you have cats?"
"Yeah, hm...four." She seemed embarrassed to admit it.
"That's substantial."
"They aren't really ours, if that helps. We only keep them until we can find a family for them. They are stray or lost cats who found their way to our balcony on the fourth floor, and who now live like feline royalty in our apartment in the meantime."
"Four cats in two and a half years?"
"Actually, it was more like...nine. I guess it's unusual. It's always been like this for me. There's always a cat somewhere that'll suddenly come into my life. I suppose I was born to be a cat mom."
"I'm more of a dog person myself," I admitted as I refilled our glasses.
"Ah, finally...a flaw."
I cocked my head to the side, aware of what her spontaneous jab revealed. "I thought we'd established I have an ego problem?"
"No, I said you had an ego. I never said a thing about an ego problem. That's your self-awareness speaking."
Every part of me wanted to grab this woman and settle her on my lap. Either to give her a spanking for making me crave her so much, or to claim her lips so her quick tongue would stop driving me mad.
Just then, it dawned on me that I was in big, big trouble. Barely an hour into meeting her, I was already getting lost in fantasies of what her lips might feel like, of what her pretty legs would look like around my hips, of what her pleasure would taste like against my tongue. But that wasn't a problem in itself, not really. I wasn't opposed to taking this further if she was willing, and fuck her until all she remembered was my name, until we were both sweaty and exhausted, out of orgasms to give.
No, the problem was that I needed that sword—much more than I needed her. And given how attached to it she was, she would despise me when I won. Because I would win. There was no way I'd let the blade remain in the museum. Not when I'd been looking for it for so long.
But I had to tread carefully there. Given how fast my interest in her was growing, there might be a point where the sword would fall secondary to her appreciation of me.
And I couldn't afford that. Not even for Mila Connelly.