It was large and warm, and he held on firmly as he led her out of the office and into her father’s bedroom.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to her father’s single bed, covered in the old-fashioned white bedspread, unchanged since she had arrived.
Henrik sat down next to her. The bed sank under his weight, and Mel’s body tipped against his, but she didn’t move away. Henrik leaned forward and pulled out the single drawer from the narrow table next to her father’s bed. At first she thought the drawer was empty, but he reached his hand further in and pulled out a small stack of photos. Her own school photos. Henrik placed them gently in her lap. There were only four of them, all from elementary school, maybe starting around Kindergarten or first grade. One was definitely from third grade because it showed her fat lip and missing teeth, evidence of her fall from the monkey bars the day before—well-timed with the school photo, her mother had noted.
Mel picked up that photo and turned it over. Melanie, third grade, was printed in her grandmother’s careful handwriting.
Her grandmother was the opposite of the soft, snuggly type, not the kind who baked cookies or knitted or did any of the other things Mel imagined other grandmothers doing. She was small and angular and seemed to subsist entirely on cigarettes, canned food and her nightly gin and tonic.
Her grandmother had sent the photos to him. And her father had kept them in a drawer next to his bedside all these years.
“Nice photo,” Henrik said, picking up the one from third grade. “Looks like you had a rough day.”
She smiled a little.
“I found them by accident one time when he asked me to get his glasses from this drawer,” said Henrik in the same, quiet voice. “Based on what you said, I’m thinking you hadn’t seen them before.”
He held the photo up next to her, looking between her and the ragged-looking girl in the picture. His mouth curved up into a mischievous smile.
“Yep. Definitely a resemblance,” he said.
Mel smiled a little more. She picked up each of the other photos in her hand and turned it over. Each had her grandmother’s writing on the back. Did her father ask for them, or did her grandmother simply send them, unannounced? And why just these years? Did she stop? Or did her grandmother send more, but her father threw the rest away?
Mel wasn’t sure how long she sat there, holding the photos and trying to imagine how they came to sit in her father’s bedside drawer. Henrik’s voice interrupted her increasingly pessimistic train of thoughts.
“It took me a minute to recognize you when you first came, but when I saw this look on your face…” Henrik chuckled, holding up the photo where she looked the oldest.
Her nine-year-old self was definitely mad about something. Mel had no memory of what had provoked her anger, but she certainly remembered the day she brought that photo home—and her mother’s burst of laughter when Mel handed the picture to her.
“I was a little…” Mel searched for the right word. “…temperamental when I was younger.”
“When you were younger?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. Mel gave a snort of laughter as she looked at the indignant young eyes glaring up at her. Yes, that girl was still in her.
“I might still be a little temperamental,” she said, smiling at him. “At times. Just a little.”
“I hardly noticed,” he said, straight-faced.
Mel laughed and dug her elbow into his side. Her arm met with solid muscle that didn’t give, but he let out a little groan. Suddenly she was conscious of the way he was leaning back on his arm, creating a place for her body to rest against his. Her shoulder pressed into the broad muscles of his chest, and she could hear his breath quicken next to her ear. Neither of them moved. Mel didn’t even breathe, afraid to disturb the heat she could feel through her clothes.
She wanted him. She wanted to turn and meet his lips, to taste him again. She wanted to lift his shirt and run her hands over the hard muscles of his chest. She would trace the planes of his arms that she had watched out of the corner of her eye all week. How had her mess of emotions taken this turn so quickly?
Her mind screamed danger, danger. She couldn’t sit this close to him without letting her mind go where she had told herself she wouldn’t. The line they had carefully drawn was crumbling.
Mel stood up abruptly and set the photos back in the drawer, making sure not to touch him. She was afraid even to look at him, afraid of how clearly he could see her thoughts. And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see his, either.
Yet, as Mel walked out of the room, she couldn’t stop herself from saying her next thought aloud.
“I think I’m ready,” she said over her shoulder. “I want to go swimming this afternoon. If you’re available.”
Mel didn’t turn around to see his reaction.
Chapter 10
Mel lay on the large, blue beach towel, soaking up the heat of the sun. After a rainy night, the air was still heavy and wet, and the heat from the dark rocks seemed to wrap around her.
Henrik would be back soon. He had gone to change into his bathing suit, leaving Mel with enough idle time to doubt the wisdom of her flippant suggestion earlier that afternoon.
They had spent lunch mapping out the years after her father’s return from the U.S., and Henrik had read longer into the afternoon than they had planned in order to finish the last pages of one of the journals. And through all this time, Mel was aware of Henrik. He sat closer today, though maybe this was simply coincidence. And when he read, his warm breath fell on her neck as he leaned forward in his chair, his voice so close, so low. The scent of him lingered, and she had to remind herself more than once why he sat next to her: They were working together. This was a professional relationship.
Now, work was over for the day. Soon Henrik would walk down the rocky path to the shore as just a… friend? That certainly wasn’t the word for whatever was between them, she thought with a smirk; this felt nothing like friendship. Alice had picked up on that right away. But this wasn’t the beginning of a relationship, either, at least not like any that Mel had had before. Just the thought of his—
“Aaaaaaahhh,” she shrieked as drops of cold water met her sun-warmed legs.
Mel turned to find Henrik looming over her, water cupped in his hands.
“Don’t do that again,” she grumbled.
“I have some other ideas, too,” he said with a familiar, mischievous grin, “but I’m pretty sure you’d like them even less.”
She meant to glare at him, but the corners of her mouth tugged up into a little smile.
“Come on,” he said, releasing the rest of the water from his hands onto the rocks and walking over to the dock. “Or are you somehow planning to swim without getting wet.”
Mel stood up, glad that he had turned away. The bikini covered very little, and she was especially conscious of her breasts, which seemed to spill out over the sides of the small, triangular scraps of fabric. And the lower half… she would need at least twice as much swimsuit to cover her not-so-inconspicuous behind. This bathing suit was definitely designed by men, for men.
“Is it my imagination, or has the water gotten colder?” she asked, hoping a neutral conversation might distract from her current state of undress.
Henrik had bent down over the side of the dock and pulled up a string, attached to a thermometer.
“It’s the rain,” he said. “Your father has a—”
When he looked up at Mel, he froze for a moment, and she watched his eyes dip down from her face and travel over her very exposed breasts. She felt his gaze, almost as if he were touching her. Except she knew this was nothing close to what his touch would feel like.
Instantly, he looked down again and cleared his throat.
“Yes, the temperature, 18 degrees.”
“What is that in Fahrenheit?”
“Maybe somewhere around 80?” he said.
This time he didn�
�t look directly at her, but she thought she saw another grin. Mel did some mental calculations—could that be right?
He stood back up, and they walked to the end of the dock, where the ladder disappeared into the dark water. Mel look down and drew in a quiet breath. It would probably be best to push aside her lingering fears and just jump in right away. But she didn’t move. Not yet.
“Are you ready?” Henrik asked softly.
She turned to him as he lifted off his t-shirt, revealing a taut, tanned stomach and broad, muscular shoulders. Now it was her turn to stare. She had seen Henrik this way before, when he pulled her out of the sea not so long ago. As she stood on the dock with him again, a swirl of irrational fear swept through her. She was going back in the dark, murky water again. The soothing warmth of Henrik next to her was the only thing keeping her panic at bay. If she focused on him, maybe she could keep her fear under control.
The sun burned down on Mel’s skin. His skin would be just as hot. Henrik’s face was impassive, but she had the feeling that he was struggling with their current states of undress just as much as she was. But what Henrik’s struggle meant to him—Mel was less sure about that. Was he thinking about their last swim together, too?
And then she smiled. Someone had to break this tension, and it might as well be her. She took a sudden step toward him on the narrow dock and gave him a little shove. And that’s all it took. Henrik fell back into the water with an enormous splash. He came up with a howl.
But when she met Henrik’s eyes, they were full of laughter.
“It’s a small island, Melanie,” he said between coughs. “And it’s not likely that I’ll forget such a low move.”
“Low?” she said innocently. “I thought that 80-degrees-Fahrenheit water would feel like bathwater to you.”
Henrik chuckled and began to swim out toward the open sea.
“Okay,” he called over his shoulder. “Maybe my temperature conversion wasn’t precise.”
He swam a few more strokes and turned around. The seascape spread out in front of her through the frame of the cove, gentle waves on the dark water as far as she could see. Enormous, billowy clouds moved across the sky, but for now, the sun shone heavy and warm on her skin. Mel watched the rippling water and the seductive man swimming in it, pushing away the darker edges of her thoughts. Now was the time to jump in.
“Are you coming?”
He was smiling, though his voice held a playfully menacing edge. He wouldn’t let her turn back now. Mel took a shaky breath. She told herself that if something went wrong, Henrik would be there.
She dove in.
Mel had thought she was prepared for the shock, but the cold water together with her fear seemed to enclose her body and contract her lungs. She reached for the surface, but it took another moment before her body remembered how to take a breath.
Henrik was beside her now—in the time she was under, he had swam over to meet her. He had a smile on his face, but his brow wrinkled with concern.
“Everything okay?”
She nodded. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
Wordlessly, they swam out towards the mouth of the cove. Mel watched the endless rise and fall of the waves in front of them and the gentle disturbance of their own wakes in the pattern. They reached the mouth and then, in silent agreement, turned around to face the sparkling sun again. The wind was warm today, and the trees and grass on the shore around them bent in unison. This was pure happiness—almost, if only she were a little warmer.
By the time they reached the dock again, Mel’s teeth were chattering, but she hung back, not wanting to be the first up the ladder. Henrik swam ahead, and by the time Mel had climbed out, he was returning from the shore with her towel.
“Your lips are blue,” he said, wrapping it around her shoulders.
The towel felt warm against her skin, and Mel pulled it closer as she felt Henrik’s large hands slowly running up and down her arms, warming her further. His own towel was wrapped around his waist, leaving his chest bare and only inches away, wet, rising and falling.
Mel shivered, struggling to calm the jittery breathlessness from the icy swim. The pull between them wasn’t going to leave her alone. She was about to step over the clear line between them. There was a good chance he’d be angry and leave. But for once, the satisfaction of knowing what he felt like was more important than what happened afterwards.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted her hand and ran it over the long, flat muscles of his chest, over the swirls of dark hair that led further down. He stiffened under her touch. She drew her hand back at his silent answer. Though she had prepared herself for it, his rejection still stung. She wouldn’t let him see that.
She raised her head and met his gaze. His face was dark, and she couldn’t tell if she saw anger or something else. She didn’t look away, daring him to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached for her hand and placed it back on his chest, covering it with his own. Neither of them moved, and his heart pounded fast and hard under her palm.
“You’re so cold,” he whispered.
His skin was warm and soft, and she could smell the sea on him. She was almost sure he’d pull away soon, so she closed her eyes and took another long breath, letting the feeling of his nearness seep into her. Her body ached to pull him closer, but she resisted, not willing to test his limits or her own. Her hand trembled against him, and she hoped he’d interpret it as a shiver from the cold. Touching Henrik this way was exactly what she shouldn’t do, but it felt like delicious relief.
His other arm slipped down around her waist, and her breath hitched in surprise. Instead of pushing her away, he invited her closer. Now, he waited, gazing down at her. A small crease had formed between his eyebrows that seemed to ask, Are you sure you want this? He had already pushed at the limits of her vulnerability. If she said yes, she was entering into uncharted territory, putting both her book and herself at risk. But at this moment, neither of those things mattered as much as the temptation of the ripple of muscles under her hand, the pull of his arm around her waist, and the searing want he no longer hid in his gaze.
Yes, she was sure.
Her hand still trembled as she moved up, over his chest and shoulders and around his neck, inviting him. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared, and his green eyes grew darker. Her heart stuttered, and her breath stopped as he lowered his head.
He brushed his lips against hers.
She reached up into his damp, dark hair and coaxed his lips back to hers, and she kissed him slowly, tasting salt and sun and him, finally him. Her towel fell to the ground as she let go with her other hand, reaching for him, pulling him closer. Her skin met his, wet and warm, and his arms closed around her, drawing her against his solid body.
Then there was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was hungry and aching, filled with the tension that had built since they had met that first day. It hadn’t been her imagination. All the glimpses of desire she had seen, everything that he had held so tightly in check, came through in the long strokes of his tongue and bites at her lips.
He kissed her, deep and insistent, and his large hands explored her arms and waist. He pulled her hips into his. He pressed himself hard against her, and he let out a deep groan as their bodies struggled closer yet. He kissed across her cheek, on the tip of her ear and in a trail down her soft, sensitive neck. One of his hands slid between them to find her breasts, pushed up against his chest. He drew back a little and slipped his thumb under the wet fabric of her bathing suit. He ran it over her sensitive nipple.
Mel cried out, and she felt him surge against her, large and hard.
Suddenly, Henrik drew back. Roughly he dragged her hands from him and returned them to her sides. She thought he might even be angry until he held her shoulders and rested his forehead gently against hers. His erection throbbed between them, an unfair reminder of just how badly he wanted her.
They stood
that way until their gasping and panting subsided. It was Henrik that broke the silence.
“This isn’t a good idea,” he said. His voice was low and rough, and he seemed to struggle to get his words out. “I thought kissing you again might ease this feeling, but that clearly isn’t happening. We can’t do this.”
“We already agreed on that,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t seem to help.”
He was still right. They were supposed to work together every day, and something like this could easily turn into… what? Could he feel how she wanted more than just the physical relief of his body against hers? Is this why he pulled away?
And his sentiment had been correct: If he thought that kissing her would somehow help them move beyond the hum of awareness that resonated between their bodies, he was dead wrong. If anything, it was now worse. If kissing Henrik felt this good, anything more would be far beyond what she had experienced before. But that was just it: she wasn’t going to experience more. The best thing she could do now was to make sure their work relationship didn’t fall apart.
“I’m sorry I started that. You don’t have to—” she struggled to find the right words. “You don’t have to repay my father by… by taking care of me.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly what she meant to say.
Henrik looked startled, and then he began to laugh.
“If I were repaying your father, I doubt this is how he’d want me to do it,” he said, still chuckling.
He picked up her towel and wrapped it back around her shoulders. Then he kissed her on her forehead.
“That had nothing to do with your father,” he said quietly. “Trust me.”
Then he turned and walked off the dock and up the trail, disappearing behind her cabin. He was gone. Mel took a deep breath and tried to steady her thoughts—without much success. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on writing that afternoon.
Stockholm Diaries, Melanie Page 11