“You know what makes me mad?” she interrupted. “Winnie is a bobcat, and I am a lamb.”
“Is she?”
“Yes! But when they say—when you say—I’m a lamb,” she said slowly, “It means I’m weak. Defenseless. Adorable.”
He turned back to her, lips twitching. “Which you’re not.”
“Definitely not.”
“What if I also happen to think you’re adorable?”
She lifted her head and squinted at him. “Adorable in a sensual, powerful sort of way?”
“Definitely. The best kind of adorable.”
“Then I’ll accept adorable.” She lowered her chin back to her palm. “But I still don’t like lamb.”
“What about changeling?” She gasped with mock outrage, and he laughed again. “You’re right, neither suit.”
“Then what does?”
“Min käraste.”
The term of endearment slipped past his lips and hung in the air between them. He wanted to snatch it back, to stuff it back down his throat and bury it in his heart where it belonged. He never used pet names with the women he took up with, especially not pet names in his mother tongue. It was too personal, too close to breaking his rule on commitments. But he had said it. A cold sweat broke out on his brow.
“What does that mean?”
He could have sagged with the intense wave of relief. Of course, she hadn’t understood. She didn’t speak Swedish. “It means kitten,” he lied.
“Emil!” She swatted his knee. “But kittens are adorable, too!”
“It can’t be helped. It suits you.”
“Kitten,” she repeated, then sighed. “It’s kind of like a bobcat.”
“See, there you go.” He peered out the window, relieved to find they were nearing Olive’s home. The conversation was getting away from him fast. All they had to do was drive two more blocks without mishap and?—
“And you will be my beloved,” she said dreamily.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
“I’m going in.”
“No, you’re not,” Winnie insisted. “That would be highly inappropriate. What if someone saw you?”
“I’ll pretend I’m a handyman.”
“In that suit? Don’t be daft.”
“Winnie,” he said gently. “I’m not leaving until I know Olive is safely up the stairs and under her mother’s care.”
“She hurt her arm, not her legs. She can walk just fine.”
“Not while she’s on laudanum,” he pointed out. “Look at her.”
As if on cue, Olive pitched forward and would have face-planted if Emil didn’t catch her around the waist and haul her against his side. All while managing not to jar her injured arm. He fixed Winnie with a triumphant stare.
“You win,” she huffed. “But mind yourself.”
