It was almost half past eight in the evening, and he and Gina were the only ones left in the office.
The man who had appeared, Dag Billing, was one of Peter’s least favorite coworkers. Peter wiped his mouth. He saw Gina lower her gaze, put down her sandwich, and sit utterly still, as though she had been caught doing something she wasn’t allowed.
Dag had his arms crossed. His eyes lingered on Gina before he gave Peter a knowing grin.
“Nothing is going on. We’re just having a break,” Peter said, though he suddenly felt annoyed at himself. When had he become someone who needed to excuse himself for what he did?
“A break? Is that what it’s called these days?”
“What do you want?”
“I forgot my cell phone. But now I’ve got a craving for some chocolate. Dark chocolate, if you know what I mean.”
Peter leaped to his feet. “That was really fucking inappropriate.”
“I’m inappropriate? I’m not the one in here, drooling over the cleaner.”
Dag’s eyes moved across Gina’s body, up and down, stopped at her breasts.
“Though I get it. There’s just something about black women.”
Gina abruptly got to her feet.
“Gina, wait,” said Peter.
“I have to go,” she said.
“No, he’s the one who should go.”
But Gina bowed her head and tried to leave. Dag reached out a hand and laid it on her arm, stopping her. “Maybe you can go clean my desk. I’ll come and inspect it in a minute?”
“Let go of her,” Peter said as Gina pulled herself loose.
“Take it easy,” said Dag. “Can’t people in this country take a joke anymore? Oh, forgive me, little cleaner, did I offend you? That’s how people always feel these days, isn’t it? Offended.”
“Stop it,” Peter hissed. His eyes sought out Gina’s, but she just rubbed her arm and avoided looking at either of them.
Dag looked at Peter, and Peter could see nothing but contempt in his eyes, knew that was how he was seen at work, as someone who could just be ignored.
Dag shook his head.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” he said.
“Peter, it’s okay,” said Gina.
But it wasn’t okay, not for him. How often did she have to put up with stuff like this? Every week? Every day?
“You don’t talk to her like that. Never again. I don’t give a damn what you think of me. But if you so much as look at her again, I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what, you fucking loser? What are you going to do?”
Dag had taken a step closer and entered Peter’s personal space. This was the moment typically Peter would have backed down, given up. But instead he took a step forward and saw a flash of uncertainty in the other man’s eyes.
“Get out of here. Don’t take your coffee, don’t take your fucking cell. Don’t say another word. Just leave.”
Dag didn’t move. Peter stepped even closer, his forehead virtually touching the other man’s. He knew he couldn’t back down now, knew that he’d rather let himself be carried out. Dag must have seen his determination, because he hesitated and then moved back, casting down his eyes.
And then he left.
The door swung shut.
Gina was motionless. She bit her lip. But she didn’t look as scared as she had, and that was all that mattered.
Peter stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, taking unsteady breaths, still unsure of what had just happened. He’d never won a man-on-man fight before, never dared stand up to anyone on his own. He had only ever dared fight in groups, against someone weaker than him. It had always been his biggest source of shame, something he knew about himself but had never thought he could change. He’d always been told he was weak. Always been weak. Scared. Repressed.
But now.
He sat down. Could feel himself shaking. But not necessarily in a bad way.
Gina sat down opposite him. Took her napkin and laid it in her lap.
Peter took one more shaky breath. He had felt ice cool when he was arguing with Dag, but now he felt some kind of reaction coming. He placed his hands on the table.
Gina looked at him. Long lashes, black eyes.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t interrupt him earlier.”
She shrugged one shoulder.
“Dag’s a jerk. He’s hit on me before.”
“Promise you’ll tell me if he ever does it again.”
She tore off a piece of bread, cut the brie, put the cheese on the bread, and then popped both into her mouth. She chewed, her eyes fixed on him.
“I promise,” she said.
Chapter 38
After a night sleeping like a log in a cheap hotel in Paris, Isobel headed out to Charles de Gaulle Airport. She boarded the plane, slumped into her window seat, and watched as they taxied out. Once they were up in the air, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind. It would be good to get home after all. Before she’d checked out that morning, Leila had told her that things had calmed down at the pediatric hospital. The fighting had ended as quickly as it started, and things were back to normal. The patients were out of danger, and both the staff and the local population had started to return.
For a while Isobel had thought about asking to go back; she didn’t like how abruptly she’d left. But she didn’t even have time to open her mouth before Leila said:
“Don’t even think about it. You’re coming home.”
The plane landed at Arlanda Airport at exactly four-thirty in the afternoon, and she managed to pick up her bags, pass though security, and go out into the arrivals hall in under twenty minutes. It was full of people waiting: relatives, families, and the occasional chauffeur watching for passengers from Paris, London, New York, and Pakistan. Isobel got stuck behind a family with a huge number of bags and suitcases. She squeezed past them and was wondering whether to take the Arlanda Express train or forget about the environment and the cost just this once and take a cab into town when she heard a familiar voice.
“Isobel!”
She scanned the crowd. Could it really be true? And then she saw him, as though a spotlight had burst to life in the dim, tired arrivals hall. Alexander—tall and blond, his sunglasses on his head and dressed in a thin leather jacket. She felt herself break into a smile that never wanted to end.
He pushed his way over, and then she was in his arms and couldn’t seem to let go. She buried her face in his T-shirt, drank in the scent of sun and leather and detergent. No one had ever come to meet her at the airport.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, rubbing her nose against his chest.
“What kind of question is that?” he asked, and pushed a strand of hair from her face.
Kiss me.
She didn’t say it aloud, but he must have seen it on her face. Their eyes locked and the air between them buzzed.
“Isobel,” he murmured. She put an arm around his neck and pulled him close; he clasped her nape, his palm covering it, and then they were at each other’s mouth, kissing passionately. He held her so tightly that she almost lost her breath.
She laid a hand on his chest, felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt, brushed her thumb over his piercing, and looked him in the eye, feeling desire setting her aflame. I want you.
He tilted his head, as though he could hear her. “I rented a car,” he said hoarsely, his eyes seemingly almost an electrical blue. He took her bag and put an arm around her.
“Come on, before we start a scandal.”
“Are you coming back to my place?”
“God, yes,” he said ferociously.
* * *
She let him in to her apartment. The air was stuffy, but at least she had cleaned before she left.
“I . . .” she started, but he interrupted her by taking her face in his hands and drawing her in for a kiss, kissing her until she was clinging to him.
“I need to take a shower,”
she said, nodding toward the living room. “Will you wait?”
“Should I do anything?” he asked, his eyes fierce. “Are you hungry?”
Isobel shook her head. She just wanted to have sex. It was everything she had been through, she thought as she let the hot water wash away her journey and her tiredness. She dried herself and brushed her teeth with short, jerky movements. She wished she owned a sexy silk robe she could put on, but she pulled on some panties and a cami, added a thin cardigan on top, and then padded out, the steam from the bathroom in her wake.
* * *
Alexander heard her come out and stood up to meet her. She had on a white cardigan so thin he could see her skin through it, white panties, and a pale pink cami. He could make out her red curls beneath the fabric of her panties; pale nipples through her cami. Her hair was loose around her face, wet at the tips. She had lost weight since he saw her last. He would fatten her up, he decided as he moved toward her. He took her face in his hands, lifted it up toward his own, and kissed her with all his experience and tenderness, his lust, longing, and relief. The kiss became a bite, and then a kiss again. Her tongue found his, grazed it gently, and sucked. It was a kiss that caused Alexander’s blood to rush south. He kissed her neck, breathed into her skin. She tasted newly washed and clean, salty from the sweat that had started to gather on her neck. Isobel was soon clinging to him again. He placed a hand on her breast and groaned; or maybe both of them did. He bent his head and tenderly kissed a nipple through her cami, felt her shiver.
“Come on,” she said, and took his hand. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”
Isobel’s bedroom was just like her: clean and fragrant, stripped of anything unnecessary. Pale bed linen on a neatly made bed. No plants in the home of a field doctor, but plenty of stones and trinkets from various corners of the world on the window ledge.
Though they were alone, she pushed the door closed behind them, laid her hands on his chest, spread out her fingers, and ran her index finger back and forward over his piercing.
“I want to see it again. If you knew how much I’d fantasized about it.”
Alexander peeled off his T-shirt, took her hand, and placed it back on his chest, his heart galloping beneath his ribs. Isobel played with the golden ring.
“It’s so damn sexy,” she mumbled. She leaned forward and caught it carefully between her teeth, pulled slightly.
The slight tug made lust roar through him. Out to both nipples and groin, made his balls tighten. He unbuttoned his pants. Isobel ran her cool palm over his stomach and then slowly pushed her hand inside. She looked at him intently as she cupped him, moved her hand up and down over his most sensitive skin.
“Did I tell you I love how big you are?” she asked, her voice sultry and husky. A droplet glistened on the tip, and she brushed it with her index finger and then brought it up to her mouth. She sucked her finger, her eyes fixed on him.
My god.
They helped one another take off the rest of their clothes. He pushed the cardigan down, off her shoulders and arms. When it tumbled to the floor around her feet, he cupped his hand against her panties, pressing against her soft mound. She closed her eyes.
“I don’t want to wait,” she said.
He pushed her back. She fell onto the bed and he followed closely behind. He was on his knees between her legs, stroking the inside of them with his hands. He pulled her panties to one side and pushed a finger inside her—not too deep, just to feel her heat, her softness.
She was breathing deeply, her creamy pale skin glowing, her eyes burning.
“Alex,” she mumbled. “I have to ask . . .”
He got up, grabbed the box he’d bought, tore open a packet, and had probably never put on protection so quickly in his life.
“Thanks.”
He ran his thumb over her panties, and she shuddered. She was so wet the material had started to turn transparent. She liked it when he touched her like that.
“That feels so good. But I need you inside me,” she said.
“No more foreplay? Should I just take you?”
She nodded.
“Say it,” he said, as he continued to run his thumb back and forth over the thin material. She had spread her beautiful legs even farther, and she started to shake. He ran three fingers the length of the material, pressing it against her.
“Fuck me,” she said, her voice hoarser than he’d ever heard it before, almost desperate.
He leaned forward over her. With one hand, he took hold of her wrist and pushed it up above her head. He took her other wrist and did the same, until he could hold both wrists with one hand. Her eyes glittered.
“Yes,” she whispered, arching her back, pushing her breasts toward him.
He tugged at her cami, pushed it up and uncovered her breasts, felt her squirm but just continued with feverish movements. Pulled down the soft, white cotton panties, pushed them to one side, and entered her. He moved roughly, almost brutally, without letting go of her wrists even once.
“Jesus,” she panted as she rocked her hips, bucking under him, taking the length of him.
He plowed into her as he held her tight, feeling the warmth and slickness surrounding him, noticing how she closed her eyes, looking the way she had the last time they made love, as though she was disappearing into another place. He tightened the grip on her wrists, pushed her legs even wider apart, and then he just took her. Their hips thudded into one another. Her eyes were tightly closed, her mouth half-open, and she gasped each time he pumped deeper and deeper into her. He felt her tighten, her whole body shaking violently, and as he intently watched her face he saw her climax. He tried to hold out, but his body was rocked with a violent shudder, and then he came too, with a roar.
He let go of her hands, breathing hard against her damp neck, and closed his eyes, fighting the low blood pressure that made his vision go dark. Five minutes, max, that was all. From taking hold of her wrists so hard he was worried he would leave marks until he came in a completely fucking crazy orgasm.
“Wow,” he said, collapsing next to her on the bed. They hadn’t even made it beneath the covers. He rested an arm above his head.
“Are you okay?” He was barely coherent.
She nodded next to him, pulled loose some strands of hair that had gotten trapped beneath him.
He turned his head. “Sure?”
She nodded again and pulled her cami down over her breasts and stomach, straightened her panties, which she was still wearing.
“Isobel? It was pretty rough, but I got the feeling you liked it. You’ve gotta tell me if I went too far.”
Worry shot through him. Had he misread her?
It had been intense, almost aggressive, and she was unusually quiet.
After a while she said, “I liked it. A lot.”
“I was worried I’d hurt you.”
“No.”
She rested her cheek on his chest, and he pulled her close.
“It was nice,” she said. Her hand moved to his chest, and he placed his own on top of hers. This physical attraction between them, he had never felt anything even remotely like it. It had felt so insanely good for him, much more than just super-hot sex. More of everything. With her.
He continued to stroke her hand, her arm, couldn’t seem to get enough of the fragrant, lush woman in his arms. He placed a kiss on her hair.
She was silent.
There was something in the air between them. He caressed her shoulder, wondering if he was imagining it.
He glanced around her little bedroom. She had a framed picture of a French landscape and another of a woman sewing.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“A Danish artist. Her name is Anna Ancher.”
“Your grandmother was also an artist, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. She did that.” She pointed to an elegant white figurine. “That’s the only thing she made that I have left.”
Alexander studied its lean lines; it was almost ethereal. �
��It’s beautiful.”
“I grew up with her, you know. My grandma.”
“You did? Not with your parents?”
She shook her head. “My parents were married, but they didn’t live together. They lived separate lives, often in different countries. My maternal grandmother was the one who took care of me. I lived with her until she died when I was ten.”
“How was it?”
She shrugged. “Mom and my grandmother didn’t get on. They were so different. My grandfather had left her. Mom adored him and thought that my grandmother was weak. But it was good. She was a kind soul, a true artist, and I loved her very much.”
And then she had died. “So you weren’t unhappy? It sounds quite lonely,” he asked, pulling her closer, feeling her cuddle up to him.
“Unhappy is such a relative word. I was fed, had a roof over my head. But I used to pretend I was a poor, undernourished kid and that Mom needed to come home to take care of me.”
She fell silent and he held her even tighter, draped his legs over hers, kissed her forehead. He sensed that the conversation was making her sad. He didn’t want her to be sad.
“So, how does it feel to be home again?”
“Well, I mean, the welcome committee was fantastic.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “But otherwise, I have mixed feelings. I was scared, but you’re always a bit scared when you’re out there.” She placed a kiss on his rib cage, followed an invisible line first with her index finger and then with her thumb. Alexander closed his eyes, let the sensation of her fingers on his flesh sweep over him.
“My grandfather died in Chad,” she murmured.
“He did?” he asked, surprised. “How?”
She said nothing at first, just made small, circular movements with her fingertips. She had the most beautiful hands he had ever seen. Long, slender. Competent and sensitive. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips, one after another, light kisses, pulled her palm to his mouth and nose, breathed her in, inhaled her.
“He was murdered,” she said quietly.
He paused. He hadn’t had any idea. How could he have missed that?
“Jesus, you’re not kidding, are you?”
“He was kidnapped, tortured, and then murdered.”
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