II arrived in the kitchen just as Ulrik popped open a bottle of champagne. Before the flow of bubbles could make a mess, he aligned the neck with an awaiting flute and filled it. He noticed my approach and offered me an appreciative look as he took me in. I returned his flirtatious grin while I joined him. I took the glass he offered and brought it to my lips. Before he'd even filled the second glass, I had emptied mine.

His expression was full of concern as he gazed at the empty glass I brought forward for him to refill it. "Everything alright, sweetheart?"

"Yeah, just my dad."

"Is he alright?"

"He's a fool, is what he is."

When I brought the refilled glass to my lips, he stopped me with a raised finger and said, "Ah! Not so fast, Miss Connelly. We're toasting first."

He took a few seconds to come up with it, his eyes planted into mine with earnestness. "To us," he started, "to many more of these moments together. And to whatever awaits us in London."

The sincerity in his voice touched me deeply, and emotion gained in me once more. "To us," I echoed, clinking my glass with his. We each took a sip, never breaking the link of our gazes.

"So, tell me what's going on with your dad," he asked, setting his glass on the marble countertop.

"Nothing, he's just...a stubborn old fool."

Ulrik opened the oven and took a perfectly golden roast out of it, setting the sizzling dish on the awaiting mat. "How so?" he insisted.

"He never got over my mother, and it's becoming aggravating. He knew her for twenty months, and she's haunted him ever since."

Pondering for a moment, Ulrik didn't say a thing at first, taking out a butcher knife and a sharpener. With deft gestures that displayed a lot of practice, he dragged the blade against the tool quickly and efficiently.

"Some people will do that to you," he settled on saying. "They leave a mark on you that can never go away."

I pouted, displeased by his rational argument. It was like listening to my father all over again. "My dad's being an idiot about it, though. All that for a woman who doesn't deserve the time of day."

"You can't realize how much effect love can have on you until you experience it."

"Ugh, stop. You sound exactly like him."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"If you wanna get to fuck me within an inch of my life again, yeah, it's pretty bad."

He chuckled, shaking his head with a broad grin. "Noted."

The roast was on a cutting board now, and I watched as he cut perfectly even slices, his knife going through the tender meat as if it were butter.

"I just don't get why he'd let her have so much importance in his life. She isn't worth it."

"Before we continue, and so I know what you want from me, do you need to vent, do you want advice, or do you seek comfort?" he methodically asked.

I considered the question and decided, "I think I just want to vent for now."

He nodded once, getting another dish out of the oven—caramelized carrots. "Then vent away, kjære."

"Did I tell you he looked for her for years? To no avail, of course. I think he still does, now and then. But she disappeared off the face of the earth as if she never existed."

While Ulrik crafted our plates with gestures akin to great chefs, I told him the improbable story of my parents, how they'd lived together in secret and hidden the pregnancy from the world. Having a child out of wedlock was social suicide, so aside from a few legal documents, no one had known about me. So, to live their lives more freely, they'd decided to move to the US and get married. Before that could happen, though, she'd disappeared into the night, leaving him lost and confused.

By the time I was done recounting everything, we were almost finished with the succulent dish Ulrik had prepared. He listened, nodded, and participated when I needed him to. I was thankful for him being so considerate about my need to let it out, as confessing everything lifted a weight off my shoulders.

But I'd monopolized the conversation so far, and as good as it felt for my soul, I also looked forward to hearing more about him. "Anyhow, enough about my depressing upbringing. What are the plans for the upcoming weeks?"

"I'm still making arrangements, but I'll be taking residence in my London townhouse. I'll have to travel for the next few months, but then things will settle down. Before that, I need to ensure I'm leaving my business ventures in the hands of competent people."

"You don't have to give up everything for me, you know."

"I know, love, but I want to. I'll still work, but I don't wish to be on the move so much. You're more important, and I want to give us a fair chance."

His devotion was commendable, and it reassured me to see he was so committed to this relationship already—nothing like my mother. It felt like a lot, though, and I worried that he might come to regret it.

"What if...we don't end up working out?"

"Then so be it. At least I'll know I gave it my everything."

I nodded, my eyes lost somewhere on the empty plate before me. Since none of my previous relationships had been anywhere near serious, they'd demanded no real commitment on both sides. Now that I was facing this prospect, though, I was realizing that maybe I had a slight problem in that department.

"I'm not saying that I have commitment issues," I carefully started, "because I think I'm ready to try this with you. But I have a hard time trusting people and letting them in," I confessed. "For obvious reasons, I have abandonment issues, and my self-preservation mechanism is to keep people at bay. If I don't get close to anyone, I can't be hurt when they leave, right?"

"I'm not going to leave you, Mila."

"You say that now, but—"

"No, I say it while being fully aware of the weight of my words. I can't remember the last time I've felt this way about someone. But I know what this means, and I know that I will be entirely yours for as long as you want me."

Still vaguely staring at my plate, I frowned. "I'm not sure I deserve all this, Ulrik."

"I'll be the judge of that."

I looked up, compelled by something in his voice. "I've met a lot of people in my life, Mila," he said with intensity, his eyes fixed on me with determination. "And rare are those who had on me the effect you do."

My heart was beating hectically in my chest, slamming against my ribs in a way I couldn't ignore. It would be so cruel of him to say all those things if he didn't mean them, and Ulrik was far from being a vile person. Which meant this wasn't a scheme to ruin me but the truth.

Overwhelmed, I got off my chair and made my way around the table to join him. He must have guessed my intentions because he backed up his chair just enough for me to come sit on his lap. I flattened my hands on each side of his gorgeous face and leaned in for a long, tender, and adamant kiss. His arms held me tightly, one around my waist and one by my hips.

When I pulled away, I lost myself in his mesmerizingly blue gaze. "To think all this started because Annie McCaine sent me an old sword," I said with amusement and wonderment.

"Also, because I was being a dickhead and stole it away from you."

I chuckled. "Yes, we can't dismiss that fact."

He showed no sign of wanting me off, and I didn't make a move to, so I remained on his lap like this, an arm hooked around his neck while he had a hand resting on my thigh, right under the seam of my dress. I twisted to grab his glass of red wine and brought it up to take a sip from it. He picked it away from me, pensive.

"By the way, have you started your selection process?" he wondered, bringing the wine to his lush mouth.

"I have, yes. I created a shared spreadsheet with you, where I cataloged everything you have and marked the ones I'm interested in."

"Ah, yes, I received the email and checked it out. I didn't realize some of them were selected. You've done some amazing work in such a short time."

His approval made my chest swell with pride. "And that's only a rundown of it. All the pieces have a full sheet with photographs of details, a quick assessment, and an analysis of the material, as well as an estimate of their era."

"With all that thorough work you've been doing, I feel like I should pay you."

I laughed, amused by his take. "The museum pays me for my research, and this stay has definitely been enlightening."

"Dare I venture in more than one way?"

I was still grinning when I claimed his lips once more. "Definitely," I murmured against them.

This time, the kiss got a little out of hand, and while I maneuvered to straddle him, Ulrik got rid of the glass and returned it to the table behind him. Our tongues grazed in a lascivious way, following a sensual dance we were growing more and more familiar with. I was holding onto his shoulders, my intimacy pressed against his hardened crotch, and his hands were kneading the softness of my behind, greedily taking everything he could.

"It's like I can never get enough of you," he grunted in our kiss right before he deepened his exploration of the confines of my mouth, his tongue bold and daring.

I could only sympathize with this as I ravished him and yet wished I could get more. I sensed his hand on the side of my waist, tugging at the knot that held my dress closed. I didn't assist him, trusting he'd figure it out, and began grinding on him instead, anticipating with eagerness what would come.

Because I had been so focused on my studies, I had never given a real shot to this relationship thing. All my partners had been what one might call flings. I had never been with anyone for more than a couple of months because getting wrapped up in a love story would have come in the way of my career. But I couldn't remember ever experiencing such raw and untameable desire with any of those men.

Ever since discovering the pleasures of the flesh at sixteen, thanks to a boyfriend who miraculously knew what he was doing, I had enjoyed sex. There was something to it that appealed to my nature, and I had proven quite liberal with my body, sharing it on whims—although always protected.

But this... Sex with Ulrik was a revelation, even beyond the pure need I had for him. I'd never felt this connected to anyone, never considered sex to be a communion of the souls like it happened between us. Until now, sex had been a physical act that brought pleasure—when done right—as well as a peak of hormones. Now, though, I craved so much more than something as ordinary as pleasure. I craved the intimacy, the connection, the sense of belonging...

Maybe it was why I couldn't get enough of him. Why I was willing to look past his reddish flags and stay by his side. I'd gotten a taste of perfection, and there was no going back.

The mere thought of returning to those mediocre experiences and seeking pleasure with other men revolted me. What a downgrade it would be, what a terrible loss... No one could ever be as meaningful as he was. No one could ever trigger those electric jolts with just a touch.

Which was precisely what happened when he finally loosened the knot and spread the front of my dress open, revealing the fine lingerie. But he couldn't see it yet because I was monopolizing his attention with our kiss.

His hands traveled from my knees to my upper thigh, grazing the tights, the garters, and then my skin. Whatever he felt there compelled him to rip himself from my lips and take me in.

His darkened irises scanned me with intensity, lust plastered all over his expression with his hooded eyes, parted lips, and tense features.

"I want you spread under me," he said with a rumbly voice, altered by desire. "I want to take you, again and again, and admire your beautiful face as it contorts with pleasure. I want to feel you clench around me as I make you orgasm on a loop until all you can remember is my name. I want to fucking ruin you, Mila, and I want you to ruin me in return until there's nothing left but flesh, bones, and two hearts that beat in unison."

Although his crude declaration triggered some primal part of my brain that made me want to fuck him right there and then, the sincerity of it brought me intense delight. Once more, I was reminded that this wasn't just a fling. Far from it.

Bending closer to him, nearly kissing him but not quite, I planted my gaze into his.

"Then what are you waiting for, Norseman?" I challenged.

Before I even finished, he stood from his chair with me in his arms, his long strides carrying me in the direction of the bedrooms.