Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgments
The Score
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Dear Reader
The Swede Playlist
Swedish Glossary
About the Author
Also by Maureen Smith
THE SWEDE
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Copyright © 2018 by Maureen Smith
Published by Wordsmith Enterprises
Cover Design: Damonza
First Print Edition: 2018
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All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
For questions and comments about this book, please contact Maureen Smith at [email protected]. Visit her official website at www.maureen-smith.com.
Acknowledgments
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the blog founder of Black Women in Europe™. Thank you for graciously assisting me with the Swedish translations for this book. You didn’t have to take time out of your busy schedule to help a complete stranger who reached out to you from halfway across the world. I am eternally grateful to you for accepting my request. Your translations and insight into Swedish culture were truly invaluable. Any mistakes made are entirely my own.
* * *
To my amazing husband, thank you for your unwavering patience, support, and endless sacrifices. I couldn’t do this without you. Your love is the ultimate gift. Twenty-two years and counting, baby!
* * *
To my beautiful children. How did I get so lucky? You mean everything to me.
* * *
To my sister Sylvia, thank you for a lifetime of love, nurturing, encouragement, guidance, and support. Your pep talks are food to my soul, and I’m blessed to have you in my life.
* * *
To my loving family, thank you for believing in me and supporting my dreams.
In Loving Memory of Pippin
You will never be forgotten
The Score
The Denver Rebels have a date with destiny. After a heartbreaking loss knocked them out of the NHL finals last year, they’re on a mission to win at all costs and be immortalized on the Stanley Cup. Loaded with talent and drive, the Rebels are the team
to beat this year.
* * *
For Reid, Viggo, Logan, and Hunter, the road to glory will be paved with challenges on and off the ice. Romance awaits them through sizzling encounters and a blast from the past.
* * *
Will these hockey hotties win the Cup without losing their hearts?
* * *
Let the games begin in five, four, three, two….
Prologue
Viggo
Puck Dreams
* * *
Seventeen years earlier
Nyköping, Sweden
* * *
Adrenaline pumped through Viggo Sandström’s veins as he skated toward the goal, carrying the puck into enemy territory. The cold air was sharp in his lungs, and he could feel the electricity in the arena as the seconds ticked off the clock. He had two opponents on his back and a goalie waiting to crush his dreams.
But nothing was going to stop him from scoring.
Using his speed, he raced past a defenseman to get in front of the net. When the goalie shifted one way, Viggo lifted his stick and blasted the puck into the back of the net.
Goal!
He pumped his fist in the air as the crowd roared and started chanting his name. His teammates surrounded him, cheering and yelling, “You did it! We won!”
He beamed excitedly and hugged them back. He could see his parents and siblings celebrating in the stands. Their proud smiles made him feel twenty feet—
Suddenly the loud cry of a hawk tore through the air, yanking him out of his daydream.
He blinked up at the gray winter sky and then slowly looked around. He was standing alone on a frozen lake at his grandparents’ farm. There was no cheering crowd. No celebrating teammates. It was just him out there. Him and his hockey stick and an open net.
A slow grin spread across his face as he lined up the next row of pucks on the ice. He was supposed to be doing chores that morning, not shooting pucks. But he couldn’t help himself. He loved practicing and playing hockey. He was happiest when he had a stick in his hand and skates on his feet.
He wished he was wearing skates right now, but he didn’t plan to stay on the ice very long. He had to get back to his chores before his grandfather woke up from his nap. He loved visiting his grandparents’ farm every summer and winter. He just wished there wasn’t always so much work to do.
As he got into position to slap the first puck into the net, his stick was suddenly wrenched out of his hands.
“Nej!”
Viggo whirled around to stare up at his scowling grandfather.
Olof Sandström was a mountain of a man, tall and barrel-chested with the longest legs and biggest feet Viggo had ever seen. His eyes were battleship gray and he still had all his hair, but the blond strands had mostly lightened to silver.
He liked to tell stories about their Viking ancestor, a fearless warrior who’d raided and traded his way up the Baltic coast and deep into Russia. His tales were almost too incredible to be believed.
But standing there in the shadow of his towering grandfather, Viggo knew the stories had to be true. There was no way Olof Sandström could have descended from anyone but a Viking. But he was a legend in his own right, considered one of Sweden’s greatest hockey players. And that impressed Viggo even more than having the blood of a Viking warrior running through his veins.
Farfar grabbed him by the collar of his coat and dragged him off the frozen lake and back toward the farmhouse.
“Farfar—”
The old man released him so abruptly that he slipped and almost fell on the snowy ground. His grandfather turned and leaned over him, peering into his face. His steel-gray eyes pierced Viggo like bullets.
“Who told you to take a break from your chores?” he scolded in Swedish. “Did I
give you permission?”
Viggo gulped hard. “No, Far—”
“Swedish!” his grandfather barked, jabbing a finger into his chest. “We are Swedish, not English! Prata svenska!”
Viggo gulped again and lowered his eyes to the ground. He knew his grandfather was old-fashioned, but he couldn’t understand why he had such a problem with them speaking English when so many other Swedes did it. But Farfar didn’t approve of that. He grumbled about it every chance he got. Which was pretty often.
The old man clapped a large hand on Viggo’s shoulder. He felt the weight of it like a boulder.
“Look at me, boy,” he commanded.
Viggo lifted his eyes to his grandfather’s stern face.
“If you are going to cheat on doing your chores, you might as well make good use of your time.” Farfar held up the hockey stick in one hand. “You think playing hockey is only about scoring goals and making the crowd cheer. But how will you score any goals if you are too tired from skating up and down the ice? How will you stop your opponents from scoring if you don’t have the energy to keep up with them?” He gripped Viggo’s shoulder. “You skate very fast, boy, but you need to be more than just fast. To be a good hockey player, you must have good endurance. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Viggo mumbled in Swedish. “I understand.”
“Good.” Farfar nodded. “It’s time you receive some speed endurance training.”
Viggo squinted up at the old man. “Speed endurance training?”
“To build your stamina.” Farfar looked off into the distance. “To get started, I want you to run all the way to the barn and back as fast as you can.”
Viggo followed his grandfather’s gaze across the snowy field to the small red barn. It suddenly looked far away.
Skit, he thought before adding rebelliously in English, Holy shit.
His grandfather was watching him, one eyebrow lifted. “Do you have a problem?”
“No,” Viggo said quickly.
Farfar drew a line in the snow with the blade of the hockey stick. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an old stopwatch. “I will time you.”
Viggo nodded and hastily peeled off his bulky winter coat, then moved into position behind the starting line. He trained his sights on the red barn, eyes narrowed, hands flexing at his sides.
“Viggo.”
He looked back at his grandfather.
There was a twinkling gleam in the old man’s eyes. Viggo thought it was just a trick of the sunlight.
But then Farfar said gruffly, “One day when you are a famous hockey player, you will thank me for being so tough on you.”
Viggo started to smile.
The smile was cut short when Farfar clicked the stopwatch and shouted, “GO!”
Viggo took off running across the field. He ran for all he was worth, his arms and legs pumping, his boots crunching in the snow, the cold wind whipping his face and stinging his eyes. Jaw clenched with fierce determination, he raced toward that little red barn like it was on fire and he needed to rescue the animals inside.
“Faster!” Farfar yelled behind him. “Run faster, boy!”
Viggo pushed himself harder, streaking past snow-covered trees as the steady whoosh of the wind grew to a roar in his ears.
Farfar was right, he told himself. He was going to be famous someday. He knew it in his heart, felt it deep in his young bones. He was destined to become a great hockey player, maybe even greater than his grandfather.
And he would do it on hockey’s biggest stage, he fervently vowed.
Someday he would be famous in the NHL.
Chapter 1
Scarlett
Say Yes
* * *
Present Day
Detroit, Michigan
* * *
Scarlett warner was nervous as hell.
She’d never been so nervous in her life.
Okay, that wasn’t exactly true.
She was crazy nervous when she auditioned to get into Berklee College of Music.
She was nervous when she lost her virginity to Evan Hoffman, who turned out to be the world’s biggest asshole.
And she was definitely nervous the first time she took the stage to perform in front of a crowd of screaming fans.
But those had been major life-changing events. What she was about to do right now didn’t warrant the frenzy of butterflies flapping around in her stomach.
Too bad my body didn’t get the memo, she thought as she strode through the crowd that had gathered for her cousin’s engagement party.
She was on a mission to apologize to Viggo Sandström, star center of the Denver Rebels. The way she’d criticized his kickass performance in tonight’s game had been nitpicky and rude. She’d known that even before her cousin Nadia called her out. She’d behaved like a total jerk, and her mama raised her better than that.
So there was only one thing left for her to do. Swallow her pride and apologize.
Viggo was standing with a group of several other partygoers. He had a lazy smile on his face and seemed to be having a good time, flanked by two beautiful women who were shamelessly vying for his attention. And, really, who could blame them?
The man was drop-dead gorgeous. Six feet five inches of Scandinavian scrumptiousness poured into an expensively cut charcoal suit. The bespoke threads should have tamed him somehow, should have made him look more like a pretty-boy model and less like a Viking warrior. But there was no taming those massive shoulders and that hard-packed chest. There was no diluting all that raw testosterone and hockey-tough masculinity.
Scarlett’s heart slammed against her rib cage with every step that brought her closer to Viggo’s group. He was watching her now, those magnetic gray eyes locked on hers like a weapon.
She almost lost her nerve and hightailed it back across the room. But she willed herself to keep moving forward. You can do this, Scarlett. You can do this!
When she reached Viggo, he turned away from the group to acknowledge her with a nod. There was a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
He was so fucking hot that her brain short-circuited and all she could do was stare up at him, lost for words.
Thick dark blond hair skimmed the collar of his suit jacket. His breathtaking face was all hard lines and sharp angles, with chiseled cheekbones and lips that were both firm and lush. He had thick eyebrows and spiky lashes, and several days’ worth of sexy golden stubble covered his square jaw.
He was staring back at Scarlett. Waiting.
She finally managed to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize for being rude to you earlier. It was totally uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
Viggo nodded very slowly.
She expected him to say something. Anything.
When he didn’t, heat crawled up her neck and spread across her cheeks. She felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
Figuratively tucking her tail between her legs, she lowered her eyes and turned to skulk away.
When Viggo reached out and grabbed her wrist, a jolt of electricity shot through her.
She swung back around to stare at him, pulse hammering in her throat.
He gave her a smile hot enough to melt her panties right off. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you,” he said, the hypnotic rumble of his deep voice sending shivers down her back. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, you’d better think again.”
Scarlett damn near swooned. Holy hell!
He hadn’t released his hold on her. His long fingers easily spanned her wrist as his eyes drifted over her, making her feel hot and tingly all over.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
She felt herself nodding and smiling shyly.
As they set off together, everything and everyone around them seemed to fade out of focus completely. The laughing partygoers, the waiters circulating with silver trays of champagne, the band playing in a corner. All of it disappeared as she an
d Viggo walked across the room, never taking their eyes off each other.
Scarlett didn’t know where they were headed until they reached a set of French doors that opened onto a terrace overlooking the Detroit River. A dozen or so tables were scattered under the bright moonlight.
It was cold outside, but not freeze-your-ass-off cold. Or maybe Scarlett was too overheated from Viggo’s nearness to notice just how chilly it was.
When he took off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders, her belly flip-flopped at the chivalrous gesture.
She glanced over her shoulder and gave him another one of those super shy smiles. Totally un-Scarlett-like, but she couldn’t help herself. The man had her melting like chocolate in the hot sun.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He winked before putting his hand on the small of her back to steer her across the empty terrace toward the railing. She shivered at his touch, enjoying the weight of his big palm against her spine.
The Swede Page 1