The Swede

by Maureen Smith

  “Come in!” Scarlett and Cara called at the same time.

  The photographer’s assistant poked her head through the door, her eyes widening when she saw Scarlett. “Wow! You look amazing!”

  “Doesn’t she?” Cara beamed like a proud brothel madam.

  Lissa gave Scarlett a big thumbs-up and grinned. “He’ll be ready for you soon. He’s just finishing up with Viggo.”

  Cara got excited. “Can we watch?”

  “Sure. Follow me.”

  Lissa led them down to a high-ceilinged room with a large chandelier, beautiful antique furnishings and a baby grand piano tucked into the corner. A fire roared in the grate, and tall windows allowed natural light to flood the room. Camera equipment, tripods and lights were strewn everywhere. Music was playing from a laptop, and several crew members were standing around the set.

  Scarlett and Cara hovered discreetly by the entrance. When the photographer moved out of the way, they got their first glimpse of Viggo.

  He was reclining on a dark leather vintage sofa with one long leg draped over the arm and the other leg bent. He wore a hand-tailored brown suit and expensive Italian loafers. His hair was loose and artfully tumbled around his sculpted face. His head was tilted slightly back and he had an index finger to his temple, as if he were contemplating the meaning of life—or the hockey game he’d just played.

  The sight of him squeezed Scarlett’s heart. Gah. Such a beautiful fucking man.

  “Holy shit,” Cara breathed beside her. “He’s out-of-this-world dreamy.”

  No lies detected.

  “That’s a Desmond Merrion suit he’s wearing,” Cara said in an awed whisper.

  “Who?”

  “Desmond Merrion. His suits are, like, the most expensive in the world. The one Viggo’s wearing costs almost fifty thousand dollars.”

  Scarlett nearly choked. “For a suit?”

  The photographer’s assistant grinned at her reaction.

  “Are those A. Testoni Norvegese shoes?” Cara asked in the same awestruck tone.

  Lissa nodded and smiled.

  Scarlett didn’t even want to know how much the shoes cost. They looked and sounded expensive.

  When the photographer finished snapping away, Viggo slowly stretched to his feet, unfolding his long body from the sofa. There was an audible sigh as every woman on the set swooned.

  He sauntered a few paces across the room and then stopped, staring at Scarlett.

  The look on his face was priceless as she began strutting toward him. She wanted him to know what he was missing and what he’d so easily given up. So it gave her some satisfaction to see him practically slobbering on that ridiculously overpriced suit.

  That’s right, sucka. Eat your fucking heart out!

  As he watched her approach with those smoldering gray eyes, she could practically feel the air sizzling between them. When they broke up, she’d expected their sexual chemistry to go bye-bye as well. No such luck.

  She stopped before him and gave a cool inclination of her head. “Viggo.”

  “Scarlett,” he murmured, without the hint of a smile.

  She swallowed tightly. “How’ve you been?”

  He raked her with a leisurely inspection, taking his sweet time getting back up to her face. “I’ve been better.”

  The admission plucked at her heartstrings. “Same.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, something soft and regretful, before his expression grew stony.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Cara gesturing to them, reminding them that they were supposed to be a hot young “It” couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  Scarlett ignored her.

  After fiddling with some equipment, the photographer came over to introduce himself to Scarlett. He was an attractive fortyish man in a white button-down shirt and fashionably faded jeans.

  He gave Scarlett a long once-over and smiled approvingly. “Perfect.” He thrust out his hand. “Hi. I’m Guy.”

  She smiled and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Scarlett.”

  “Of course you are.” He winked. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”

  “I know. I’ve seen your work.”

  He gave her a warm grin. “I like you already.”

  She laughed.

  Viggo glowered at them.

  “So let me just run through what we’re gonna be doing today,” Guy said.

  Scarlett tried to pay attention while he explained the theme of the photo shoot, but her tingling awareness of Viggo made it hard to focus on anything but him. She could feel his hot gaze sliding over her, spiking her body temperature and setting off goosebumps. She couldn’t believe she’d let Cara strong-arm her into doing this. It was insane.

  “So let’s get you two warmed up before we start.” Guy smiled at them, backing away as he lifted his camera. “Why don’t you show each other some love? You know, give me a little PDA.”

  “With pleasure,” Viggo drawled, hauling Scarlett against him. The sudden contact with his big frame made her gasp like she’d just been body checked. Her breasts swelled and her nipples tightened, crushed against the unyielding wall of his chest.

  He stared down at her with a mocking gleam in his eyes. “You heard what the man said,” he murmured for her ears only. “You’re good at performing, so let’s give him a good show.”

  The taunt cut deep, but she smoothly recovered and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just for the record,” she said through her smile, “I didn’t want to be here. I had to be dragged kicking and screaming—”

  “I’m sure you did.” He lowered his head, rubbing his nose against hers. Even though the affection was just for show, her foolish heart melted like warm taffy.

  “Nice!” the photographer called out, snapping away on his camera.

  Holding Viggo close, Scarlett brought her mouth to his ear and nibbled his lobe, feeling him shiver. “I just wanted to make that perfectly clear,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m riding your coattails—”

  “Never crossed my mind. Speaking of riding—” He shifted his hips, grinding his pelvis against hers.

  She shuddered and nearly moaned.

  He was dangerously aroused, the hard bulge of his erection pressing into her mound. They had an audience, but that didn’t stop her hungry hips from rocking into his boner.

  He sucked in air, his eyes flashing like a silver bullet. Before she could register the warning, he grabbed a handful of her ass and dragged her even closer, practically fucking her through her leather pants.

  “Whoa,” someone exclaimed.

  The photographer laughed. “I think we’re, ah, ready to begin.”

  Viggo and Scarlett broke away from each other like two prizefighters in the ring. Her body was burning up, her legs were wobbling and her hormones were going ballistic. But Viggo’s obvious predicament made her feel like she’d won the first round.

  Tearing his gaze from hers, he smoothed a hand down the front of his suit jacket and tried to adjust the massive erection straining against his pants. When that didn’t work, he threw a sullen glance at the photographer and muttered, “I need a minute.”

  “I figured you might.” Guy looked amused. “Good thing it’s time for your wardrobe change.”

  Viggo nodded curtly and stalked off with the photographer’s blushing assistant. While he was gone, Guy took some pictures of Scarlett vamping by the window.

  “Everything okay with you two?” he asked between shots.

  She forced a smile. “Just having a little lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Guy grinned. “But I’m loving the fireworks. So, ah, no complaints here.”

  Scarlett didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  Viggo returned wearing a brown leather bomber jacket, black jeans and crisp Versace high-top sneakers. Even in the casual outfit, he looked so damn sexy Scarlett wanted to jump his bones.

 
Once the photo shoot got under way, she tried to relax and pretend that Viggo was anyone other than the man she loved. As the photographer snapped away, she moved through different poses: leaning back against a wall as Viggo caged her between his arms; straddling him on a red velvet sofa; seductively threatening him with a dominatrix whip as he sprawled in a chair, his lids at half-mast. When he sat down at the piano, she lay across the top and watched his long fingers drift over the keys, wishing he would stroke her instead.

  She couldn’t get her pulse under control, and the heat rushing through her body made her feel like a human volcano.

  When it was time for a wardrobe change, she practically ran back to the temporary safety of her dressing room. The stylist fussed with her hair and makeup while she put on the sheer white lace-up bodysuit. It had a deep V in front that plunged down to her pierced navel. Her breasts bulged enticingly over the wired lace and her ass cheeks were exposed. The skimpy bodysuit was paired with white stiletto sandals that laced all the way up to her thighs.

  She didn’t feel comfortable roaming around half naked, so she slipped on a white robe before the photographer’s assistant escorted her upstairs to the new set. They’d moved to an elegantly furnished bedroom suite with a view of the mountains.

  Viggo stood by the fireplace, his phone pressed to his ear. He was wearing hockey pants and nothing else.

  Scarlett gulped at the sight of his ripped chest and tattooed biceps. She wasn’t the only lust-struck woman in the room. As she watched, an assistant hurried up to him and began spraying his chest with a fine mist of oil. She was so nervous that she dropped the spray bottle. Mumbling an apology, she dove down to fumble it off the floor. When she popped back up, her face was bright red. Poor girl.

  When Viggo glanced over and caught Scarlett staring at his bare chest, his mouth twitched into a cocky smirk.

  Cheeks heating, she quickly turned away.

  He’s enjoying this, she realized. He enjoyed seeing her all flustered and fighting for composure. Maybe that was why he hadn’t canceled the photo shoot. Maybe he wanted to exact his revenge by tormenting her.

  Well, two can play that game!

  Lifting her chin, Scarlett removed her robe and handed it off to an assistant. As she started across the room, a chorus of wolf whistles and cheers went up from the crew members.

  Viggo ended his phone call and turned from the fireplace. When he saw Scarlett’s attire, his eyes bulged out of their sockets. He looked her up and down and swallowed hard.

  Then he scowled.

  “No. Fuck no.” He shot a menacing glare at the photographer. “She’s not wearing that.”

  Guy looked around as if Viggo were speaking to someone else. “Uh, what?”

  “That.” Viggo jabbed a finger at Scarlett. “She’s not wearing that. Put her in something else.”

  Guy exchanged incredulous glances with the crew members.

  “It’s okay, Viggo,” Scarlett spoke up.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. Really. I’m a big girl.”

  He glared at her. “Scarlett—”

  Her chin went up. “It’s my body. I can wear whatever I want.”

  His eyes darkened to the ominous shade of thunderclouds, and his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it was made of stone.

  “Now stop holding us up. Time is money.” Scarlett’s expression was stern, but inwardly she was beaming and twirling and singing on a mountaintop like Julie Andrews.

  He cares! He still cares! He’d slay dragons for me like Lancelot!

  She watched as Viggo raked a hand through his hair, frustration rolling off him like deadly gamma rays. He looked her over once more, then swore under his breath in Swedish and stalked away.

  Guy looked relieved.

  Cara raised both eyebrows at Scarlett and mouthed, I changed my mind! That was hot!

  Crisis averted, Scarlett was directed to sit in a silk-upholstered chair while Viggo knelt before her. He was pissed off and turned on, a dangerous combo.

  “You two embody the perfect marriage of hockey and rock ’n’ roll,” Guy explained the photo concept with a teasing smile. “Scarlett’s wearing all white because it’s your wedding night.”

  At those words, Scarlett’s breath jammed in her throat.

  She and Viggo stared at each other for an arrested moment. Then she dragged her eyes away and joked to the photographer, “He won’t be wearing hockey pants on our wedding night.”

  Guy laughed.

  Viggo sat back on his haunches, staring up at her from under his thick golden lashes.

  She bit her lip, trying not to stare at his bulging biceps or eight-pack abs or that yummylicious V muscle. She ached to touch him, to slide her lips and tongue over his gleaming skin. It had been too long. Way too damn long.

  “So it’s our wedding night,” he murmured as he trailed one finger down her hip to her thigh, stopping right at the edge of her lace-up sandals.

  A hot ache shot through her, electrifying her clit. Holy G-spot, did this man know how to push her buttons. In every way imaginable.

  “We’ve exchanged vows.” His thumb traced slow circles on her leg, each one spiraling closer to the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. “That means you’ve promised to love, honor and obey—”

  “Obey?” Her voice was breathy. “What year are you living in?”

  His eyes glimmered.

  “That’s it. Keep it up.” Guy moved closer, his camera lens zooming in on Scarlett’s ankle tattoo. “Beautiful ink. Both of you. Really awesome and photogenic.”

  “Want a better view?” Scarlett lifted her leg and planted her stilettoed foot right on Viggo’s chest.

  “Nice!” the photographer said approvingly as he clicked away. “Very sexy, Scarlett.”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Holding her gaze, Viggo ran his palm down her calf to her ankle. His touch sent electricity zipping straight to her core. “She’s fucking dangerous.”

  With a little smirk, Scarlett dug her ice-pick heel into the hard slab of his pec. His eyes flashed a dark warning that shot a thrill through her.

  He lowered her leg to the floor and put his hands on her thighs, spreading them wide apart. Then he gave her a slow, filthy-sexy smile that reminded her of all the ways he’d made her lose control and scream his name.

  Her pulse pounded like a thousand drums as she stared back at him, watching as he bent his head and began kissing his way up the inside of her thighs. She trembled as every part of her skin reacted to the heat of his mouth, goosebumps breaking out all over her body.

  When he reached her crotch and deliberately paused, she almost whimpered.

  Slowly he looked up at her, lifting only his eyes.

  Her breathing stopped. Her girl parts were quivering and she was embarrassed to realize how drenched her crotch was, staining the white fabric of the bodysuit.

  She saw a spark of pure lust in Viggo’s eyes before he lowered his lashes and pressed his mouth to her sex, kissing her through the lace crotch.

  Rocked by a full-body shiver, she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and arched off the chair with her head thrown back.

  The photographer snapped furiously away. “Perfect! So fucking hot!”

  Much of the photo shoot was like that, fraught with sexual tension and barbed innuendo. It was like having angry sex, except with an audience. But there were lighthearted moments, too. For one pose, Viggo was given a pair of drumsticks and Scarlett received a hockey stick. She strummed it like a guitar while Viggo used the drumsticks to tap on her ass like tom-toms. It was fun and playful, and when they both laughed and looked at each other, she felt the first glimmer of hope that all was not lost between them.

  Halfway through the photo shoot, they learned that the editor’s connecting flight had been canceled due to bad weather, so the interview would have to be rescheduled.

  It was the reprieve Scarlett had been praying for. So why didn’t she feel more relieved?

  Her final out
fit of the day was a crimson Balenciaga dress with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt that swirled around her calves. The femininity of the dress was offset by a chunky pair of black leather buckle-strap ankle boots, which added the perfect touch of badass rocker. She loved the whole look. So did Cara.

  The final set of photos would be taken outdoors against the stunning backdrop of the Rockies. When Scarlett stepped outside, Viggo was already waiting for her.

  He sat astride a gleaming Harley with one hand on the throttle. His hair was finger-combed back from his face. He wore a simple white V-neck sweater and dark jeans cuffed over black boots. It was very James Dean. Very Rebel Without a Cause.

  “Ooh, I love it!” Cara squealed beside her, clapping her hands together. “He’s got that whole ‘young, brooding badass’ thing down pat, doesn’t he? And it’s also perfect because he is a Rebel. Get it? Denver Rebels?”

  “I got it,” Scarlett said dryly.

  Cara laughed.

  Viggo was talking to Guy. As Scarlett started down the veranda steps, he turned his head and looked at her, his eyes running over her from head to toe. She saw him swallow tightly and clench his jaw before averting his gaze.

  Guy did a slow clap of appreciation. “Beautiful!”

  Scarlett shot him a grateful smile as she walked toward the Harley, rubbing her bare arms against the cold.

  “Sorry you’re not wearing something warmer.” Guy grinned at her. “We couldn’t do a spread with a rock star named Scarlett and not put you in a red dress.”

  She laughed. “Just so you know, I’m keeping the dress and the boots.”

  “You should. They look fantastic on you.” He winked.

  Viggo shifted on the Harley, recapturing Scarlett’s gaze. She could see a muscle twitching in his cheek as he stared straight ahead.

  “Be careful getting on,” he said in a low voice.

  “I’m good.” She hitched her dress up, climbed onto the back of the motorcycle and wrapped her arms around his midsection. The heat of his body instantly tightened her nipples and warmed her crotch. When she felt a slight tremor run through him, she realized he was just as affected by their nearness as she was. That made her smile.

  To set the mood, someone turned on Rihanna’s “Desperado.” Guy began taking pictures, circling the motorcycle as he shot Viggo and Scarlett from various angles and directions. The clicking of the camera shutter was interspersed with his enthusiastic utterances of approval.