The Swede

by Maureen Smith

  Viggo smiled, picking up his glass of water. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s doing great. They all are.” Elsa gave him an update on her family and asked about his. When their meals came, she changed the subject to hockey.

  “So you’re leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow?”

  “Ja. We’re playing the Kings.”

  Elsa smiled, brushing her hair off her shoulder with delicate fingers. “I always knew you’d become a big hockey star.”

  “And I always knew you’d be successful at anything you set your mind to.” He smiled and drank some wine. “Tell me about your job. Do you like it?”

  She beamed. “I do. Very much.”

  Viggo ate quietly, listening and nodding as she chattered away about her work. Halfway through her monologue, he realized that his hands hadn’t strayed across the small table. He hadn’t reached out to rub her forearm or stroke her hair. He hadn’t caressed her face, hadn’t tweaked her nose, hadn’t brushed his thumb across her lips.

  He hadn’t touched her. Not once.

  It really shouldn’t surprise him. He’d never been touchy-feely with her—or any other woman for that matter.

  There’d only been one exception.

  His chest tightened at the thought of Scarlett. Seeing her today at the photo shoot had done a serious number on him. Every look she gave him, every move she made, every touch of her skin had wreaked pure havoc on his heart and soul.

  I miss you…And you know something else? You miss me, too.

  He did, God help him.

  He missed her so fucking much. He missed her smile. He missed the sound of her voice singing a melody or teasing him or just calling him dude. He missed her scent, the sweet smell of her hair, the silky softness of her skin. He missed lazing around with her, laughing and arguing over his stubborn refusal to watch Vikings. He missed their spirited debates and intense hockey discussions. He missed her cooking and her bossiness. He missed the feel of her hands in his hair. He missed touching her, holding her, being inside her body.

  He missed her like he’d known her for several lifetimes, not just one. He missed her like someone had carved him open and cut his fucking heart out.

  The bubbly pitch of Elsa’s voice penetrated his tortured musings. She’d launched into another anecdote, something about her finding the perfect brand strategy for a renewable energy campaign.

  He fingered the stem of his wineglass as he watched her talk. The overhead lights highlighted the paleness of her skin and the gleaming strands of her hair. She was a nice Swedish girl. She wasn’t a scheming, psychotic bitch like Audrey. She wasn’t a shallow, gold-digging puck bunny. She had her own career and was apparently doing well for herself. She’d make any man a good wife and life partner.

  But every time she flipped her hair, all he saw was Scarlett blowing her curls out of her eyes or whipping them around as she pounded her drums.

  Every time he looked into Elsa’s eyes, all he saw were slanted pools of onyx staring back at him.

  Every time he looked at Elsa’s mouth, all he saw were Scarlett’s succulent lips parting beneath—

  “Viggo?”

  Elsa’s voice broke into his thoughts, scattering Scarlett’s image like petals blown by the wind.

  He blinked at her. “Hmm?”

  She frowned. “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

  Shit. “Of course.”

  “I don’t think you have. You’re clearly distracted.”

  He mustered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Some of the tension left her mouth and she nodded. “Your game against Jöran is coming up.”

  Viggo nodded, sipping his wine.

  “I’ve seen some of his childish tweets and interviews. He’s jealous of you. He always has been.”

  “I know.”

  “I hope you beat him.”

  “That’s the plan,” Viggo said mildly.

  Elsa picked up her wineglass and lifted it to her mouth, but didn’t take a sip. “I was really hoping you’d keep in touch after you left home to play in the NHL.”

  “Were you?” Viggo murmured.

  “I think you know I was.” She sipped her wine. “I suppose it was an unrealistic hope. We were both young, and you were stepping into a whole new world. It would have been hard for me to compete with your newfound fame and fortune and all sorts of beautiful women at your disposal.”

  Her wistful words made Viggo feel guilty, like he should be apologizing for something. But they’d gone their separate ways long before he left Sweden, so he wasn’t really sure what she’d expected from him.

  As she stared into her glass, he could tell she wanted to say something else. He waited.

  “Are you still dating that musician?”

  His throat closed like a fist.

  When he didn’t respond, Elsa lifted her eyes to his. “I’ve seen the tabloids and gossip blogs. The two of you look…happy together.”

  Viggo leaned back slowly in his chair.

  “So are you?” Elsa prodded.

  “Am I what?”

  “Are you still seeing her?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “No.”

  Relief flashed in Elsa’s eyes before she drank the rest of her wine and put her glass down. “She probably wasn’t right for you.”

  He said nothing. What was there to say?

  With her eyes steady on his, Elsa wiped her mouth with her napkin and carefully set it down next to her empty glass. “You’re leaving for Los Angeles in the morning, and I don’t know when I’ll be back in Denver. It could be years before we see each other again.”

  Viggo held her gaze across the table. Waiting.

  “Since I’m not seeing anyone and you’re recently single…” She let her voice trail off. There was no mistaking what she was offering.

  Did he dare accept? Could he?

  Before he knew it, he was asking for the check.

  Then he and Elsa were leaving the restaurant and walking across the lobby to the elevator. She pressed the up button without looking away from him. When the elevator arrived, she slowly backed inside, biting her lip.

  After a brief hesitation, he followed.

  She pushed the button for the tenth floor and flipped her hair back. There was an excited gleam in her eyes, and her nipples were poking through the clingy fabric of her dress.

  They didn’t speak on the ride up.

  When the doors opened on her floor, she smiled invitingly and took his hand.

  He took two steps, then stopped.

  She looked questioningly at him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

  “What?” Disappointment flared in her eyes. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m still in love with her.”

  Elsa’s face fell. “But you’re not with her anymore.”

  “Doesn’t change my feelings.” He pressed the Open Door button and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “It was really good catching up with you.”

  Her lips twisted. “Not good enough, apparently.”

  Guilt pricked him. But he wasn’t changing his mind. “Take care of yourself, Elsa,” he said gently. “Have a safe trip home.”

  She just stood there staring at him, as if she expected him to reconsider.

  He released the button and stepped back, letting the doors close on another chapter in his life.

  * * *

  “You’re trying to kill me, woman.”

  “Mmm,” she purred. “That wouldn’t serve me very well, now would it?”

  Viggo laughed and levered himself over her, bracing his weight on his arms as he grinned down at her. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  She gave him a sexy smile, her eyes sated and drowsy. “As if I could stay away from you.”

  He gazed down at her, shaking his head in wonder. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Her dark eyes gleamed up at him. “Stop talking and just ki
ss me.”

  With a devilish grin, he lowered his head to do just—

  * * *

  The loud ringing of his phone jerked Viggo out of his gazillionth dream about Scarlett.

  Groaning, he rolled over and fumbled for the phone, knocking over the bottle of Aspirin on the nightstand. Cracking open one bleary eye, he pushed the answer button and grunted, “’lo?”

  “It’s here!” a high-pitched voice squealed into his ear, making him cringe. “Oh my God, Viggo, it’s finally here!”

  He frowned in groggy confusion. “Svea?”

  “Who else?” His baby sister laughed. “The magazine came out today! Have you seen it?”

  Viggo drew a blank for a moment. “What magazine?”

  “The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue! I’m on the cover, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his face, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Congratulations.”

  “It came out this morning, and it’s already getting lots of buzz!” Svea squealed excitedly. “You haven’t seen it?”

  “Uh, no.” Viggo chuckled. “I’m in L.A., Svea. It’s barely five o’clock in the morning.”

  “You’re in Los Angeles?”

  “Uh, yeah. We played the Kings last night.”

  “Oh, right!” She giggled. “You’re in a different city every time I talk to you. I should be used to it by now. I’m in New York to kick off the press tour, so I’m three hours ahead of you. Anyway,” she went on enthusiastically, “I know it’s early, but you have to see my cover!”

  He sighed. “Let me take a look at it and call you back.”

  “Okay.” Svea hesitated. “Don’t get mad when you see it. As I reminded Leif and Rikard, it’s a swimsuit issue. It’s supposed to be sexy.”

  Viggo frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. At all.

  “Viggo?”

  “I’ll call you back,” he grumbled.

  “Hurry up! I want your feedback!”

  He hung up on her and struggled into a sitting position.

  “Dude,” Reid groaned from the other bed, his head buried under his pillow. “What the fuck?”

  “Sorry. That was Svea. The swimsuit issue came out today.”

  “Uh-oh.” That brought Reid out from under his pillow. “Have you seen it?”

  “Looking it up right now,” Viggo muttered grimly.

  Seconds later he was frowning at an image of his baby sister splashed across the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. She was wearing a red string bikini that showed way too much fucking skin. The top was untied and her arm was slung across her breasts to keep them from spilling out. Her golden skin was oiled up, and she was kneeling provocatively on the sandy beach with her face tilted toward the sun and her other hand bunched into her flowing blond hair.

  stunning Swedish Siren Svea Sandström, the cover title anointed her.

  Viggo scrubbed his hand over his face and scowled. Bloody hell.

  Reid looked amused. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough,” Viggo growled.

  Reid laughed. “Bro, I am so fucking glad Aria decided not to go into modeling. I’d hate to be in your shoes right now.”

  Viggo scowled harder, then clicked off his phone and fell back against the bed with an aggravated groan.

  Reid grinned. “It’s gonna be an interesting day.”

  “Tell me about it,” Viggo grumbled darkly. “Let’s see if I can get through it without killing somebody.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, they left their room and headed to the elevator. The team was having breakfast downstairs before they hit the road. The prospect of returning home to an empty place only worsened Viggo’s mood.

  He still remembered the day he’d come home to find Scarlett gone. She’d moved out of his penthouse, taking all her belongings.

  Taking her light and warmth.

  Taking her laughter and songs.

  Taking his heart. Taking his soul.

  Hunter and Logan joined him and Reid on the way to the elevator. Logan was swooning over a selfie he’d taken with Sanaa Lathan, one of his Hollywood crushes. Apparently he’d met her last night while he and Hunter were out partying after the game. In the photo, the actress looked gorgeous in a fitted black dress that hugged her luscious curves.

  Viggo and Reid admired the pic until Logan snatched his phone away like Gollum hoarding his precious ring.

  Reid grinned at him. “How much did you pay her to kiss your cheek?”

  Logan laughed. “Dude, don’t be jealous. I told her I was a huge fan and she was flattered. So she leaned right up and gave me a smooch.” His mouth stretched into a goofy grin. “I’m never washing my face again.”

  Reid snorted. “What else is new?”

  Hunter laughed, clapping Logan on the shoulder. “You guys should have seen him practically slobbering all over Sanaa. It was hilarious. In his defense, though, she’s pretty damn fine. She’s even more beautiful in person.”

  Logan grinned harder. “Her name means ‘work of art’ in Swahili, and I couldn’t agree more.” He beamed down at the picture, then brought the phone to his heart and sighed. “I am so fucking in love.”

  Reid and Hunter laughed. Even Viggo was amused by Logan’s antics.

  They rode the elevator down to the lobby. As they got off, one of their teammates walked by and gave Viggo a grinning thumbs-up.

  Viggo scowled after him.

  Logan laughed. “I’m guessing he saw your sister’s Sports Illustrated cover. I’m probably the only one on the planet who hasn’t seen it yet.”

  “Bullshit,” Viggo growled. “You know you have.”

  “No, I haven’t. I swear. I’ve purposely avoided looking at it.”

  Viggo narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  Logan sighed. “I’m a guy and your sister’s a total babe. If I saw her in a bikini and sprung a massive boner, you’d probably show up like some reincarnated Viking and chop my dick off with a battle axe.” He shuddered. “No thanks, dude. I like my junk right where it is.”

  Reid and Hunter cracked up laughing.

  Viggo turned his glare on the team captain. “What about you?”

  Hunter’s green eyes glinted. “I’ve never lied to you before, and I won’t start now.”

  “So you saw the cover?”

  “I did.” Hunter gave a lazy shrug. “What can I say? Your sister’s a sexy, gorgeous woman.”

  Viggo just scowled. It was becoming his permanent facial expression.

  After breakfast the team grabbed their belongings, checked out of the hotel and headed outside to their charter bus, where the driver and equipment manager were loading up everyone’s luggage.

  Viggo had pulled out his phone and was scrolling through his notifications when Jöran tweeted him: Baby sis looks mighty damn tasty on SI. Maybe when I’m done with Scarlett, I’ll take my turn with Svea.

  Viggo stopped dead in his tracks, cold fury slashing through him.

  The others took one look at his face and chorused, “Uh-oh. What now?”

  “You guys go ahead,” he bit out. “I’ll catch up.”

  They exchanged wary glances before moving on.

  Viggo scrolled furiously through recent text messages to find Jöran’s number. Their parents had a mutual acquaintance who’d passed along Jöran’s contact info to Viggo, hoping they would patch things up and become friends. When hell froze the fuck over.

  Jöran answered the phone laughing. “Well, well, well,” he gloated smugly in Swedish. “Looks like the sleeping bear has finally—”

  “Listen, motherfucker,” Viggo snarled. “You got beef with me? Let’s settle it on the ice like men. Keep my sister’s name outta your goddamn mouth, or I will rip your fucking throat out the next time I see you. And you know I will, so don’t fucking try me.”

  There was a startled beat of silence. Then Jöran recovered and taunted mockingly, “What about Scarlett’s name?”

  “Hers too, motherfucker. You’ve be
en warned.” Viggo hung up and spat on the ground. “Jävlar!”

  When his phone rang, he thought the skitstövel was calling right back to have the last word. But it wasn’t Jöran.

  His gut clenched at the sight of his grandfather’s number. Jaw hardening, he declined the call and jammed the phone into his pocket.

  Not today, old man. Not today.

  He stalked over to the team bus and handed off his luggage, keeping one small duffel bag slung across his shoulder. When he boarded the bus and saw several players’ noses buried in the swimsuit issue, he lost his shit.

  “Oh hell no. You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  Everyone looked at him. Several eyes skittered guiltily away.

  “Are you guys serious right now?” he shouted.

  Throats cleared, bodies shifted and low mumbles rippled around the bus.

  “Sandström—” Coach said warningly.

  Scowling, Viggo began marching down the aisle confiscating his teammates’ copies. The rookies whined protestingly as he snatched the magazines out of their grubby paws and whacked them upside their heads.

  When he stopped beside Dubinski and saw him empty-handed, he wasn’t fooled for one second. Holding out his hand, he said impatiently, “C’mon, asshole. Give it up.”

  “What?” Dubinski said innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Viggo glared menacingly. “You got till the count of three to hand it over.”

  Grumbling under his breath, Dubinski pulled the magazine out from under his leg and resentfully slapped it into Viggo’s hand.

  “Fuck you very much.” As Viggo stalked off down the aisle, some wiseass called out, “You do know we can always buy another copy or just look up her pictures online!”

  “Sure you can,” Viggo growled back. “But don’t let me catch you, assholes, or you’re gonna wish you’d never met me.”

  There were a few snickers. But most of the guys traded nervous glances, like they realized they were dealing with a dangerously unhinged person.

  “Disrespectful ass motherfuckers,” Viggo grumbled as he stomped to the back of the bus, where Reid and Logan were laughing their heads off. Hunter was peering over the top of his hardcover book and shaking his head at Viggo.