“Oh, this is so, so good.”
He stepped in, grinning, and sat opposite her. “That was good.”
She splashed water at him, and he reached out and grabbed her, floating her across to sit on his lap. Everything above the top of her arms was exposed to the freezing air, but below, she was warm…and tempted.
“You’re dangerous,” she told him, wriggling closer, craving the feeling of him against her. In her.
“Maybe.” He encircled her with his arms and slid off the seat, so that she was submerged up to her chin. She wrapped her legs around him, and met his lips with a heat that matched the steaming water.
“There is one Swedish tradition you have to do while you’re here,” he said, when they paused for breath. “We can do it tonight.”
“What is it?” Please don’t let it be something hideous to eat, she thought. Let it be, oh, some wild sexy move that only the infamously uninhibited Scandinavians knew.
“Roll in the snow,” he said.
Uh, what? She frowned. “You must be joking.”
“Usually we go from the sauna to the snow, but a spa pool is okay. Hot and cold, and hot again.”
Personally, she preferred just the hot. But he was determined.
“It’s good for you,” he insisted.
“I don’t see how it can be,” she said. “It sounds like it would be very bad for you.”
He smiled. “Sometimes bad things are good for you.”
He had a point. In fact, he was the point. She gave in.
“Fine. But if I catch pneumonia, you’re driving me to hospital.”
“Deal.” He took her hand under the water. “Ready?”
“No.”
But when he stood up, she did too, the freezing air a shock against her bare skin.
“You have to roll,” he warned her as they went down the steps, out of the fairy-light and into the moonlight.
All she could do was nod. She was already nothing but one giant goose-bump. This might be wild, but it was not sexy.
The snow under her feet burned like dry ice, and she danced across it like a possessed firewalker. Then Jakob gave the call—now!—and she flung herself blindly to the ground, all breath knocked out of her body by the chill. She rolled faster than she imagined was possible, gasping and cursing and inelegant. This kind of cold hurt.
As she stood up, ready to make the return dash to the pool, she suddenly registered the sound of a car turning into the driveway. Across the pond and down the hill, almost back at the road, headlights sliced through the darkness.
“Someone’s coming,” she hissed.
For a millisecond, they stood frozen—almost literally—then Jakob said, “It’s Fredrik’s car.”
They raced back to the deck, and she leapt into the pool with surprising agility, considering that her body was now composed of stalactites. Or stalagmites. Either way, she had to warm up. Jakob only stopped to turn off the fairy lights before vaulting in to join her. They sank down to their chins, waiting.
“It would have to be him,” she whispered.
He said nothing in reply, but the look on his face was the same as when he’d seen Fredrik at the party, and when they’d butted heads on her doorstep—absolute daggers. Again, she wondered what exactly had happened between them. They held their breaths, but there was silence. They waited, and waited. And waited. Was the car coming up, or not?
“Maybe he changed his mind,” she whispered. “He might have turned around while we were making a run for it.”
He nodded. “Maybe.”
“Hopefully,” she added. “How did you know it was him? I couldn’t see that far.”
“The engine.” He kept his voice low. “He’s the only person in Lillavik with an American car. A GMC pickup.”
“Oh.”
The flashiness of it seemed perfect for what she knew of Fredrik so far. But still, there was no sign of the truck coming up the driveway. After a while, she realised that they could be sitting here endlessly waiting for Fredrik to arrive or not arrive, and there were other more entertaining things they could be doing.
“Let’s get out,” she said.
He nodded, and held up one finger for her to wait. Then he got out and grabbed two towels that were sitting on a nearby bench. He handed her one as she stood up, and helped her step out. They both wrapped themselves up and crept inside, Jakob stopping to turn off the spa pool on the way.
“Why do you guys not get on?” she said, as she gathered up her clothes.
He locked the door and pulled the heavy curtain across. “We get on.”
There was only one small lamp left on in the great room, and shadows fell around them. She could hardly see his face, but the edge to his voice told her this was dangerous ground. The night was already half ruined by Fredrik’s almost-interruption—she didn’t want to barge on and wreck it completely by pursuing that question. Especially when Jakob had set up such a romantic tryst. Well, apart from the naked in the snow thing, but she would forgive him for that.
“Okay.” She looked at her clothes, then back at Jakob. “What now, then?”
“We could go upstairs,” he suggested.
“Oh…we could.”
She thought of the two rooms with luxurious king-size beds. As Jakob well knew, she and Stina had put clean sheets on them only that afternoon, crisp and white and inviting. She wouldn’t mind changing the sheets again, if she had enough of a reason…
He came closer, his armful of clothes meeting hers between them, and she could see him more clearly in the dim light. “Is that a yes?”
His face was a charming combination of doubtful and hopeful. She laughed—did he really have any doubts about her answer?
“Yes. Definitely a yes.”
* * *
They made their way upstairs. By herself, this would have been spooky—tip-toeing up the creaky stairs in the half-dark, cold draughts on her bare skin, yet more heads of moose (or elk) and deer staring vacantly from the walls. But there was nothing scary about her hand in his, and the promise of another night of pleasure.
She pushed aside the nagging guilt about her secret. Later, she promised herself. She’d figure it out later.
In one of the big bedrooms, they threw their clothes on a chair, and he lit a candle. She went over to the window, intending to pull the curtains. But the night-time view caught her attention. Beyond her reflection, the snow-covered landscape stretched away into the distance, the untamed country of soaring eagles, snoozing bears, and wandering wolves.
“I wonder where they are,” she said.
He knew what she meant. “Out there somewhere.” He put his arms around her, and rested his chin on the top of her head.
In the middle distance, headlights passed by, and all at once she was struck by the intrusion of humans into these wild places, and how everything was weighted against the wolves.
“It’s horrible to think that people want to get rid of them,” she said.
“Not everyone,” he said. “That’s why we keep working and fighting.”
For a second there, she’d forgotten that she was on the other side of that fight. If he knew that, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be here in the candlelight, gently caressing her bare skin. His fingers traced a path along her collarbone, between her cleavage, and down her belly. With his other hand, he cupped one breast, grazing his thumb against her nipple. Through half-closed eyes, she realised he was watching their reflection—watching her body respond under his own hands. Seeing that image in front of her, she was hit with a charge of lust that made her twist around and press against him, overtaken, overwhelmed. With a deep groan, he lowered his head and kissed her, crushing her closer. No more talking. No more waiting.
Somehow they made it over to the bed, still entangled, and she tipped onto it, taking him with her. In the heady, muddled haze of desire, she could hardly think which country she was in—but she’d definitely left her inhibitions elsewhere.
Afterwards, t
hey lay in the candlelight, the shadows deep and soft, the covers tangled at the end of the big bed. He had one arm flung over his head, the other around her, and a distinctly satisfied aura, even with his eyes closed. Now that would be a picture to send Denise, she thought. Her own expression was probably much the same, given how extremely satisfied he’d made her. More than once. She stretched, luxuriating in the afterglow. She was a regular-sized sort of girl, but next to him, she felt positively petite. She pointed her feet, but he was too tall for her to reach his toes, so she twined her leg around his, and ran her hand down his muscular thigh.
“How did you get the scar?” she asked.
He didn’t open his eyes. After a while, he said, “An accident.”
“A car accident, or…?” Of course she did know that, but she was curious. Why had he never been the same afterwards, as Vera had said?
“Truck and car,” he said. “I was a teenager. One of the drivers was sick, but we needed the truck. All the other drivers were busy, so my father asked me to bring it back to the workshop, but a snow storm suddenly came in...”
All at once she understood why he didn’t like driving in bad weather. But she knew he wouldn’t appreciate her mentioning that.
“He let you drive the trucks?” she asked instead.
“Just here and there.”
“I’m impressed. Those are pretty big to handle.”
She draped a leg over him, and he reached out and pulled her closer, tucking her against him. She felt him stir and rise against her again.
“Pretty big to handle,” she murmured, laughing.
He grabbed her around the waist and tickled her, making her squeal. “Handle this.”
She fought back, clambering on top of him and wrestling until his arms were pinned above his head. He’d let her win, but she’d take the victory anyway—after all, her prize was tall, buff, and hot.
“Now you vill tell me everyzing,” she said in her best cartoon villain voice.
He pretended to struggle, then give in. “I surrender.”
“Well, you have no choice,” she told him. “Now where were we? Ah yes, your manly scar.”
“Mark of the road warrior.”
“But you’re not driving trucks now,” she said. “Alvar used the company to fund Defrost Digital, is that right?”
“He thought that could make a lot more money. He was right.”
“Your dad’s quite the entrepreneur. Didn’t you want to work with him? He and Fredrik seem—”
“You saw what he was like,” he said. “Would you want to work with him?”
“Maybe not work with him. But you’re family. Wouldn’t it be good to have that?”
For the briefest second, she saw something in his expression—a flicker of longing. Then it was gone. “No. He and Fredrik deserve each other.”
He was tense underneath her, and his face had darkened, and suddenly she regretted bringing any of it up. Why the hell would she ruin the beautiful time they were having?
“Sorry, yes. I mean no, I suppose not. I just thought…”
He lowered his arms suddenly, taking hold of her and flipping her over, and she whooped and laughed as she arrived flat on her back, looking up at him.
“That’s enough thinking,” he told her, taking her hands and holding them against the pillow, a wild promise in his eyes. “Now it’s your turn to surrender.”
And, willingly, she did.
Twenty-Two
Emerging into the morning air, Zoe took a deep breath and raised her face to the bright sky. Bright, because they’d slept in way beyond the usual time. Well, slept in…and stayed in to do other things. Things that made her swoony all over again to think about.
She’d left Jakob in the shower just now, whistling like the satisfied man he was. She’d decided to throw on her clothes and shower in her cabin, where she had clean underwear, and all her toiletries. Then she’d go back and change the bed. There would be no evidence—only a slight tenderness between her legs to remind her of the deliciously heated night (and morning) they’d spent. As she walked the curving path through the property, everything seemed even more of a winter wonderland than usual. She smiled. That’s what he did to her. And damn, it was good.
Then—of course—her phone rang. She pulled it out of her coat pocket, the familiar ring-tone jarring in the snow-hushed setting. Gah. Trust The Shark to ruin her glow. She hesitated, not wanting to face the Monday-morning real world just yet…but she couldn’t put off talking to her forever. She looked over her shoulder, then hit ‘accept’.
“Hi, Alcina.”
“Zoe, hello. You didn’t ring me back.”
Guilty as charged. “No. Sorry about that.” She didn’t offer any explanation.
Alcina was silent. Even without being able to see her, Zoe knew the silence carried a clear message. Her performance so far had been unsatisfactory. Her credibility, and probably her job, was on the line. She climbed the cabin steps with the phone pressed to her ear, and turned to take in the clearing, the sky, the frost-blessed trees, Jakob’s little cabin. The world she usually occupied seemed very, very far away.
Then The Shark’s voice snapped down the line, as cold as the tip of Zoe’s nose.
“We have clients who expect a return on their investment. And right now, you are responsible for that. If you don’t come through, I will have to answer to those clients.”
Yes. The clients who were opposing everything Jakob was working for. Here she was, in his world, but living a lie—even though she was coming to realise that his was the side she belonged on. And maybe by.
She shook the crazily premature thought out of her head. Okay, she knew him a lot better now than before, in one obvious way…but they didn’t really know each other. In particular, he didn’t know her. The guilt rose up again.
“I know, Alcina.”
“I didn’t send you there for a holiday.”
“I know,” she said again. A bird flew past, its red front brilliant against the pale landscape, and in an instant she was back at the lake, by Jakob’s boathouse. “Bullfinch,” she said.
“I BEG your pardon,” said Alcina, obviously mishearing in the worst way possible.
“Sorry, no, I said bull-finch,” Zoe said hurriedly. “A bird just flew past.”
“Stop thinking about birds, and whatever else you’re wasting your time with, and get the information we need,” she replied, icier than the frost on the porch roof. “If you want your salary paid, do the work. It’s as simple as that.”
Zoe bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself saying something she’d regret. She couldn’t go on like this. Still, if her parents could spend their days defending and tidying up after dodgy corporates, she must have it in her to put her conscience aside for the sake of work—whether she liked it or not. She just had to get it over and done with, with minimal damage.
“I understand.” She went inside, closing the door on the fairy-tale landscape. “I’ll email you as soon as I have something to report.”
* * *
She stood in the office doorway, back from doing the usual morning tasks, and stared at Jakob, hearing his words but hardly able to make sense of them.
“What?”
He said it again. “Brynjar died.”
Out in the forest, she’d been daydreaming about the teasing, flirty conversation they’d have when they saw each other again, after their lusty night (and morning). She felt like going out of the office and coming back in, to restart everything—but his face told her it would do no good.
She sank into her chair. “But he was going to be okay.”
“He wasn’t okay.” His voice was edged with anger and frustration. “He had kidney failure.”
“Oh, no. What would cause that?”
“Emil just rang. He says he was poisoned with antifreeze. The damage was already done. After a few days, his body couldn’t cope any more.”
“Antifreeze? But why would he drink that? Wouldn’t it tast
e terrible?”
He shook his head. “It tastes sweet. Sometimes dogs lick it from the garage floor, if the car leaks.”
“But he wouldn’t have been in anyone’s garage.”
“No. Someone must have left it out. There have been so many tracks near here lately—they probably chose a place where the wolves have been passing.”
It was deeply unpleasant to think that someone had been out there doing something so nasty. “We have to find out who it is.”
“I’m going to keep looking around. Maybe there will be a clue.”
“And I’ll keep my eyes open for anything suspicious when I’m out there,” she promised. “Can I help you with anything else? Take the pressure off a bit?”
He sighed and rumpled his hair, thinking.
“There is one thing. We have the map tracking where the wolves travel. But for the last few years I’ve also been working on a more in-depth database of information about wolf sightings and interactions. We use the government data on the radio-collared wolves, but we also have people around the country who can log in to our system and add information for their area.”
His accent—that strangely mesmerising blend of musical Swedish and Scottish burr—even made databases sound sexy. She longed to go over and mess up his hair even more, but after the grim news about Brynjar, it hardly seemed appropriate. Also, The Shark’s words were still fresh in her mind. She forced herself back to the topic at hand.
“Are they all researchers like you?”
“Some of them. But anyone can contribute through the website, they only need to create an account. We’ve combined the government data and the information from our own people. It’s in Swedish, but two of them have been translating it into English, so we can put together a report for the Scottish hearing.”
She nodded. “Good idea.”
“But before then, we need someone to check it and make sure the English is all correct.”
“Me?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind.”
Here was the opportunity she’d needed—and he was handing it to her on a plate. Var så god. All the available information for the whole country, and in English, even. She really ought to be happier about it…
The Near & Far Series Page 15