LATIKA BAKSHMI TOOK a deep breath before steeling herself to open the door. She knew exactly what she would find behind it.
Or rather, who.
Prince Gunnar von Bjornland, her boss’s brother, dissolute rake, and general disgrace to his country. A man she despised with every fiber of her being. And, a man who was her current project.
Queen Astrid, who was not just her boss, but also her friend and confidant, had asked her to take on the task of reforming Gunnar, and she was going to do it.
In a minute.
“Stop lurking outside my door.”
She jolted. “How did you know I was outside the door?”
The door swung open, revealing a man who was more Viking God than mere mortal. His blond hair was pushed back from his face, a slightly darker beard covering his jaw. His light blue eyes were the color of ice, but somehow contained heat nonetheless.
And his body.
It was an assault to all her good sense and she hated and loved it in equal measure. She both prayed he would find some sense of decorum in himself and learn to put on a shirt whenever they might encounter one another.
And prayed he would not.
Ever.
His chest was broad, and currently bare, a light dusting of hair over the toned, taut skin there. He took a breath, his well-defined abs shifting as he stepped to the side, as if allowing her entry into his bedchamber.
“How did you know I was out here?” She asked again, not making the move toward entering.
“I could feel the tension radiating through the door. And only you give off tension quite like that, Latika.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, giving a slight nod of her head. “You’re very funny.”
“I can hear you. You do not wear sensible shoes, like my sister. You wear those hard, spiky heels, and they make a very particular sound on the marble. I suppose, were I given to any great sense of shame, I would be concerned that sound can travel so freely through my bedroom door. One assumes then the sound can travel out just as well.”
“A grave concern for you,” she said, clipped. “I can only imagine.”
He shrugged a broad shoulder, making all the muscles in his body shift and bunch. “It isn’t really.”
“It should be.” She looked around the room. There were no signs of recent debauchery, at least. By that she meant, there wasn’t a redhead or a blonde lying sprawled out in his bed, or anything quite like that.
However, the bed was unmade, and he had clearly just arisen from it, and likely just pulled the jeans he was wearing on.
It made her wonder if there was anything underneath.
She gritted her teeth, angry with herself without thought. “Astrid has asked me…”
“I would like you to find me a wife,” he said, cutting her off and silencing her effectively.
“You… What?”
“I would like you to find me a wife. I understand that my reputation has become of some concern to Astrid. She’s married, had a child, and our nation is on the brink of a great and modern future the likes of which would probably make my father rotate in his grave were he not so busy burning in hell.”
“Astrid has asked me to help you reform,” she finished.
“I know,” he said. “And I think there’s only one way to do that.”
She had expected resistance. She had expected him to balk. To banter. To use excessive double entendre. She had not expected him to see her coming, to anticipate her words, and raise her.
“Why? Why are you suddenly interested in marriage?”
“I didn’t say I was suddenly interested in marriage. But I do know that a fairytale is the quickest way to capture the hearts of the people. Is it not?”
“Well, judging by your sister’s experience, I would say you are correct enough.”
“I am not the heir. That is something that has always sat comfortably with me, but the burden that Astrid carries does not. And for my part, if I can alleviate some of what she carries, then I will do it. I can see that the simplest way will be for me to find a wife.”
“A bizarre leap in logic.”
“I know you don’t respect me, Latika, and I have never asked you to. Moreover, I’ve never behaved in a way that might invite you to. Oddly, though it may seem to you, I’m not overly concerned with your approval. But, I do wish to make Astrid happy, and I do wish to bolster the standing of my country in the world. So, you must help me find a wife.”
“Is there a particular brand name you are drawn to?” she asked, her tone caustic.
“Yes,” he said, not missing a beat. “I would prefer a philanthropist. I do not require that she be in mint condition, so to speak.”
It took her a moment to catch his meaning. “You do not expect a virgin? How progressive of you.”
“Well,” he said. “As I myself am not a virgin, it seems a bit of a double standard to demand my wife come to me untouched.”
She tried to keep the flush out of her face, and tried to keep her tone sharp. “You are not untouched?”