The Collector | 18+

【13】Hard Bargain

I stared at the man in front of me, almost as though he was an alien. Was he being serious?

"Are you telling me you're in possession of Haakon's second sword?" I asked, baffled.

"It's part of the Westergaard collection, yes."

That information hit me on the head like a brick. Ever since finding the weapon in the crate Annie McCaine had sent, I'd been convinced that I'd made a massive discovery, one that would change many, many things we thought we knew. I'd imagined myself writing articles and even a book on the momentous finding.

But this man in front of me and his family had owned its twin the entire time? What did this mean for the one currently locked away in Henry's lab? Was it found, even though its perfect clone had never been lost? Had the Westergaards ever had their sword analyzed? Did someone already know the secrets behind Haakon's surprisingly resistant blades?

While I was spiraling in a mini existential crisis, he got rid of his suit's jacket and hung it on a hook in the wall next to him. My mind returned to reality when he undid the buttons at his wrists and methodically rolled his sleeves over his forearms. A detail that I would have never ever expected revealed itself.

Tattoos. He had tattoos on his arms. One was part of a bigger design that went nearly all the way down to his wrist, taking up the whole forearm. And on the other side, a band of Celtic knots that circled the tight muscles, halfway to his elbow. Both were relatively simple, without any filling or shading, but precise and sharp, certainly done by a high-end professional.

While I wanted to think I was conflicted about it, the way my body reacted made it pretty clear that I thoroughly approved of it. It was stupid hot. This man was full of surprises, and I wondered what else I had yet to discover. For now, though, all I wanted was to know where else was he tattooed, and what the big design looked like.

But at the very moment, it didn't matter. Not when the biggest finding of my career so far was in the balance.

"So...let me get this straight," I warily began, averting my eyes from his muscular forearms. "You have one of Haakon's blades."

"I do."

"And you want mine."

"It's not yours; it's the museum's."

"Semantics. You want the sword that I received, even though you already have one that's exactly the same."

"To complete the set." He was trying to be humorous, but I wasn't having it.

"How selfish can one be? Has no one ever taught you about sharing?"

"I'm an orphaned only child, Miss Connelly. Of course, no one ever taught me how to share."

Alright, now I felt like an asshole, even if his voice hadn't been admonishing. I was still looking for what to say when the waitress came back with our fish and chips, along with a bottle of sauce, the vinegar, a sliced lemon, and napkins.

Right there, I decided it wasn't a date. Not if he planned to go all the way with his threats to get the sword off my hands. The man didn't deserve to enter my bedroom, see my pretty underwear, and be inside of me. Nuh-uh.

I picked a French fry and chewed it with silent rancor. Why could things never be simple with the men in my life?

But who was I kidding? There had never been anything simple about Ulrik Westergaard, and I'd known it from the start.

"From the email Henriksen forwarded me, I knew you were knowledgeable on Haakon. But I hadn't realized it was a passion of yours. All the exclamation points you used in your email should have been a clue, though."