Heir of Uncertain Magic (Whimbrel House, #2)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

Why should I be sad when so much is good?

“Really, darling.” He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, took her hand, and pulled her knuckles to his lips. Met her eyes and held them until that flattering pink suffused her cheeks. Then he whispered, “Just let me enjoy you.”

Leaning in close to Hulda, Merritt whispered, “This is just an awkward day for you all around, isn’t it?” Without looking at him, she said, “And I’m sure you’re enjoying it.” “Most definitely.”

so much was good.

“You,” he continued, unabashed, “are absolutely gorgeous when you flush.”

“I’ve always wanted to run my fingers through your hair and see if it’s as soft as it looks.” He reached forward—Hulda had situated herself just close enough for him to do so—and plucked a single hairpin from her locks. Hulda froze, hot and cold at once, those gnats in her stomach multiplying a hundredfold, searching his face for . . . for

“Worry about your center, not your limbs.” He put his arms around her again and patted her corset, which did indeed make her very aware of her center.

Merritt’s lips moved from hers to her jaw, and those spikes intensified. She felt as though she’d skated miles around that pond. He kissed below her ear. “Merritt.” She was alarmed at how breathy her voice sounded. At how titillating his administrations to her were becoming. “Hm?” He pressed his lips to her neck, and her body jumped to life, sending her thoughts into very indecent places cloaked in shadow.

Danielle swatted Hulda’s shoulder. “Stop it. Do you love him?” Hulda chewed on her bottom lip. Stared into her tea. “I do.”

“In a moment.” His arms loosely encircled her. He didn’t lift his head. “In just . . . a moment.” Hulda nodded. Squeezed a little tighter. They stayed like that for a long time.

He shrugged. “A statue made of softer clay than you realize, I think.”

Pressed his lips to hers, soft and sure. Twirled that lock of hair around his finger. Then he tilted his head and pressed a little firmer, and she reciprocated. When her lips parted for air, he took her bottom one between his. Expected her to start, but she didn’t, which encouraged him. Releasing that lock of hair, his hand came around the back of her head, pulling her closer, claiming her, working his lips across hers. She was a quick learner, and hesitated only a second when he ran his tongue across the entrance to her mouth.

Needless to say, it was a good thing Merritt was sitting down.

Her maiden name could become a middle name, but Merritt didn’t voice that.

The woman—Hulda—took his hands and pressed them to either side of her neck. Her skin was warm. “It’s my turn to take care of you,” she whispered, and pressed cool lips to his forehead. Grasping his elbows, she helped him stand. “Let’s get you home.”

Merritt beamed at her. This man! But if teasing her brightened his mood this much, she would let him torment her until the end of her days.

“Anything for you, darling.”

“You know,” he spoke slowly, quietly, his heartbeat picking up, “once we get out of here . . . if BIKER is off the table . . . you could come back to Whimbrel House.”

“A-Are you proposing to me?”

“I just . . . I never thought this would be an option for me. I never thought anyone would ever . .

This time he wasn’t able to finish the sentence because Hulda was kissing him.

Merritt nodded. “It’s just, I’ve noticed you’re a rather chipper fellow.” The sailor paused winding the rope. “Well, I try to be. Life’s better sweet than sour, my mother would say.”