“But then you wouldn’t be so good a journalist. What’s it like being out in the field? Like you are now.”
“It depends. But I heard an incredible story yesterday. About a secret sex camp up here. Can you imagine?”
He smirked. “Not really. Is that what you were writing about before?”
“Yeah, it’ll be in the paper tomorrow morning. The first part anyway. The rest will depend on how well the next interview goes.” Elsa had gotten tired, and they had decided to meet a second time. “Secret sex means lots of readers.”
“Sounds . . . quite tabloid.”
“I guess so.”
The bartender unexpectedly returned. He cleared their table, the empty bottles and stacked plates, and replaced the candle that had burned down. “We’re closing soon,” he said sullenly. “You want anything else?”
“Coffee?” Tom asked.
“Nah, I think I actually want to keep drinking. Like you said. It’ll be good once today is over.”
They sat in silence.
The bartender brought two beers to their table and then disappeared.
“I like talking to people too,” Ambra continued. “Understanding what makes them tick. Maybe that’s my strongest driving force. Curiosity. Or justice. Not letting people get away with bad things. Ah, I don’t know.” She put her hand on the table. Tom looked down at it and put his a short distance away.
The air thickened. Did he notice it too? She was aware of everything about him. His hand, he had such big hands. His presence. His serious eyes.
“It’s past midnight—officially Christmas Day,” she said slowly, moving her hand closer to his, feeling the warmth of his skin over the short distance between their hands.
“Yeah.”
She pulled at the label on her beer, no longer thirsty. “Should we get the check?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. He paid the entire thing, despite Ambra’s protests. “Not up for discussion,” he said bluntly, and she gave in.
“Did you drive here?” she asked once the bartender cleared their table.
“Yeah.”
“You aren’t planning on driving home? Since you’ve been drinking?”
“No,” he said, looking her in the eyes.
Silence. They would never see each other again. The air was so charged, the sparks were practically flying between them. They had established that they were lonely, both of them. It was as though it had already been decided. She swallowed. Wanted him.
* * *
Inside Tom, a small voice whispered that he should be heading home. Now. That he definitely shouldn’t be sitting here, exchanging meaningful looks with Ambra.
But he’d also drunk copious amounts of alcohol, so he couldn’t drive.
Plus it was freezing cold and it was snowing.
It was also Christmas. There would be almost no taxis in Kiruna at this time of day, and definitely none that would drive him out into the woods.
And so on, to infinity. The reasons for staying at the hotel seemed endless.
She was lonely.
He was lonely.
There was something between them, definitely.
Tom hesitated. Had he known all along that this was how it would end up? He honestly had no idea. Somewhere, deep down, he suspected he would have come to different conclusions if he was sober. But the chemistry was there. They’d flirted like hell. And the fact was, it was a long time since he’d last had sex. Maybe it was just what he needed.
Ambra got up from the table. She teetered slightly, and that decided things.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, putting a hand beneath her arm.
“Okay,” she said.
Though she was no longer unsteady, he didn’t let go of her. Something happened inside him the moment his hand wrapped around her arm. A buzzing in his body, an inhalation that stopped in his chest and then . . . Desire. It was desire he was feeling.
They remained like that, her fragrant hair against his cheek. At the very back of his mind, he heard a voice: This is an incredibly bad idea. But he ignored it. Ambra looked up at him. Her long eyelashes trembled. His thumb moved against her sweater, imagining the skin beneath it. She was warm under his hand, and an image flashed before his eyes, the two of them wrapped around one another in a cool, wide hotel bed. Her with so much passionate energy and such long legs. And him . . . A moment of forgetfulness and human contact, wasn’t that just what he needed?
“Come on, I’ll walk with you,” he said, and his voice sounded hoarse. He would follow her up. And then he would see.
Yeah, right.
They made it to the elevator. The lobby was deserted. Outside the spinning glass doors, the snow was pouring down.
It took a while for the elevator to arrive. Without really thinking, Tom raised a hand and trapped one of her bouncing curls between his fingers.
“I . . .” he began, but then he trailed off.
His hand moved in beneath her silky hair. She looked at him without blinking, and he saw her chest rising beneath her sweater. His hand cupped the back of her neck and he slowly pulled her toward him. She followed the movement, raised her face toward his. He bent down gently, lowered his face, and then his lips grazed hers. She made a slight sound beneath his mouth, and her hand moved onto his upper arm, caressing it lightly. She closed her eyes, and he did the same. It was a simple kiss, no tongues, very little body contact, just lips meeting, hands and fingers moving on top of skin and clothes and hair. But it was a kiss that promised more, and Tom groaned quietly.
The elevator pinged. Christ, they were still in the lobby. He opened his eyes. She did too. They smiled at one another, slightly embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. The elevator doors opened. He really shouldn’t . . . But he followed her in. They each stood against one wall, said nothing during the short ride. When they reached her floor, Ambra moved ahead of him. Her hips swayed gently. The lighting was low, and the hotel was silent around them, as if they were the only people inside, in Kiruna, in the entire world.
“This is me,” she said, stopping in front of a door. She fumbled slightly with the key card before she managed to push it into the reader, and then she turned to look at him. She had the palest skin he had ever seen, as if she never spent any time in the sun, as if she lived at night and consisted mostly of snow and stardust and everything else that was white. When he looked closer, he saw that she had a small dot to one side of her mouth, a black beauty spot.
He kissed her again. Pushed her backward, against the door, heard her pant, and then their tongues met and it coursed through him like a bolt. It was a long, long time since he last kissed anyone but Ellinor, and Ambra felt shockingly different. Shockingly good. He kissed her almost aggressively, desperately. Pushed her harder against the door, let his tongue explore her mouth, heard her pant. She raised a hand to his chest, pulled back slightly, her hair messy, her lips swollen from his kisses.
“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Shouldn’t we go in?” She studied him questioningly, and it was as though that broke the spell. Like waking from a pleasant but unrealistic dream. He didn’t want this, did he? Couldn’t do this. He was in Kiruna for something completely different, couldn’t jeopardize that with a woman he didn’t even know.
“Tom?” she said when he didn’t reply.
He took a step back. Her hand fell to her side.
“It’s best if I go,” he said.
“What?” She looked at him with her big, questioning eyes. There was an invitation in that look, as clear as if she had uttered the words. Stay here with me.
And why not?
Ambra Vinter was a grown woman, alone in an unfamiliar town. He was single, free, or at least uncomfortably lonely.
There was no good reason to say the words Tom heard himself utter: “I shouldn’t have come up here.”
Ambra blinked. The glimmer in her eyes was gone.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he was. Sorry and probably craz
y. It wasn’t as though Ellinor would appreciate his abstaining from sex for her sake. It wasn’t as though his plan to win her back was even working; if anything it was the opposite.
“Why? There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Ambra said. Her tone was almost breezy, but Tom sensed he had hurt her. He wanted to explain that he hadn’t been with a woman for so long, he didn’t trust himself, that she seemed so lonely and that he was even more so and that it just felt wrong, even while it also felt frighteningly right. But what he said was: “Will you be okay?”
She looked at him. “Will I be okay? Yeah. Don’t worry.”
“Ambra, I . . .”
“Good night, Tom.”
She quickly turned around, pressed the door handle, tore the key card from the reader, slipped inside the room, and hastily closed the door behind her.
Tom remained outside, irresolute. He listened, but he couldn’t hear anything.
Great job, Tom, really smooth. He raised his hand to knock, but then thought better of it. He looked at his watch. One o’clock in the morning. He headed downstairs to find someone who could give him a room for the night.
Chapter 10
Ambra held her breath and waited until she heard Tom’s footsteps disappear on the other side of the door.
Then she closed her eyes, put her forehead against the wall, and moaned as quietly as she could.
That had to qualify as the ultimate humiliation. She was literally the only woman as far as the eye could see. In a town where there was a real shortage of women. With a completely single guy. Inviting him back to her room, and being open about it.
And then being turned down.
Ambra opened her eyes, staggered into her room, and clumsily started to undress. Her head was spinning; she wasn’t used to drinking so much. She managed to unbutton her jeans, but then her fingers stopped cooperating. She pulled off her sweater instead, and collapsed onto the bed. She almost wished she was more drunk. There was no chance she would have forgotten this by tomorrow. Maybe even ever. She groaned miserably. Why did he say no? She’d never had her sister’s confidence, or looks for that matter. She really wasn’t an expert when it came to men. She was far from a bombshell, she was well aware of that. But those few times she did put herself out there, she had never been turned down in such a humiliating way.
She wished she could tell herself that she didn’t know what had gotten into her. But she had flirted, entirely deliberately, with the strong-but-silent Tom. Somewhere in the middle of their spontaneous Christmas meal, the mood between them had changed and she’d started to see him less as a buff, macho guy and more as a potential bedmate. She tried to kick off her shoes as she lay across the wide bed. The thing was, she’d assumed Tom was on the same wavelength. The thought hadn’t even struck her at first. But then she saw the way he was looking at her. And she started paying more and more attention to the way he listened to what she said, filled her glass, and so many other small things that she’d interpreted as interest. Not interest-interest. But attraction, a flirt, a one-time thing. Two lonely souls in a bar in Kiruna. She’d thought that the tension was there. And he seemed slightly vulnerable. That had an effect on her, sent her mind down risky paths. She’d checked his hand. No ring. No indentation from a ring. She rubbed her face. Didn’t he say he was single? No? Plus, they kissed.
Jesus Christ, they kissed. And what a kiss it was. It made her entire body warm, hot. God, it was sexy. But then he dumped her. This was verging on unbearable.
She managed to kick off one of her shoes, but she didn’t have the energy for the other. She just lay where she was with her pants unbuttoned and one shoe on her foot. Tom wasn’t handsome like a model, not in any sense. Big and angular, with too-long hair, somewhere between unshaven and grizzly. He was far from the ideal man in her world. Nothing like the type she usually fell for. Intellectual, know-it-all men who spouted empty phrases the minute things got complicated. So it wasn’t automatically a bad thing that Tom was different. But Tom definitely wasn’t the type of man who usually fell for her.
So no wonder he’d turned her down.
She felt so humiliated she didn’t know what to do. If she were to write a list of her most embarrassing experiences as an adult, this would definitely be up there. And, of course, she couldn’t just drop all thoughts of what had happened. No, that would be far too healthy. Instead, she started to go through the things she had said.
It was like a table tennis match between them. He batted back any questions he was asked. Tom Lexington clearly didn’t like to talk about himself, and he managed to make her say considerably more than she usually did. But it wasn’t so much what she’d said (however much she wished she had kept quiet about always being alone at Christmas; God, that sounded pathetic) that was the problem, more what she’d done.
Ambra groaned again. There was no end to how embarrassed she felt. She had bitten her lip and played with her hair and carried on. Laid her hand next to his. Made out with him, invited him in. And then he said no.
She covered her eyes with her hand and moaned.
This kind of thing happened. All the time. Men had no obligation to perform just because a woman fluttered her eyelashes. They really didn’t.
But still. Jesus Christ.
If it was possible, she now hated Kiruna even more.
She lay with her arm over her face for a while. But her head was spinning, so she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling instead. There was a crack running from one corner to another. Always cracks in hotel ceilings.
She glanced at her watch. It was late, she should get some sleep. But instead she dwelled on how stupid she felt. And then, exhausted from working hard and drinking too much, she fell asleep on top of the covers, still wearing her jeans and one shoe. Her last thought was that, despite everything that had happened, that was still far from being the worst Christmas Eve she had ever experienced.
Chapter 11
Mattias Ceder leaned against the door frame and studied the sight of the newly woken Tom Lexington. The sheets were crumpled and twisted, as though Tom had been tossing and turning in his sleep.
Mattias was in the doorway of the hotel room for almost an entire minute before Tom even started to stir. That was worrying. The Tom he knew would have leaped out of bed before an intruder even managed to turn the door handle.
“I was just wondering when you’d wake up,” he said loudly.
Tom sat up. “What the hell are you doing here?” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice rough and grumpy. He seemed disoriented.
Mattias wasn’t the least bit surprised. Tom had sounded drunk on the phone early this morning. He stepped into the room and pulled the door closed behind him. “You called and asked me to come, so here I am.”
Tom looked at him with suspicion. “I did? When?”
Mattias glanced at his watch. It was nine-thirty in the morning. “You called me at two. You were blind drunk and said you needed to talk to me. That you were in the Scandic Ferrum and that I should come here.”
“You’re lying.”
“Nope,” Mattias said. He genuinely wasn’t lying this time. But it wasn’t surprising that Tom didn’t remember their call. He’d been barely coherent, hyperventilating and slurring. Raving about soft lips. Talking about anxiety attacks and awful mistakes he had made. The truth was, the call terrified Mattias. He had known Tom a long time—the two men had experienced both war and loss together—and Tom had never sounded like that before.
“How the hell did you get in?”
Mattias held up the key card he’d grabbed from a cleaning cart. He could probably have asked the hotel to let him in, but where was the fun in that?
Tom snorted and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe I called you of all people.”
“But you did, so I came.”
Maybe it was a temporary confusion that made Tom call. Maybe it was a subconscious cry for help. Mattias didn’t care which. He was here now, and he wanted to strike while the iron was hot
.
Tom grabbed a T-shirt and started to pull it on. His arm got caught, and he swore and started over. “Did you come from Stockholm?”
“Karlsborg. By plane.”
Tom gave him a skeptical look. It was in Karlsborg, that small town on the western shore of Lake Vättern, that they’d met for the first time. The two men worked and studied there for a few years, and both knew there weren’t any regular flights from the town. But Mattias had got lucky, and sometimes that was all you needed. That, and the right contacts, of course. He’d been celebrating Christmas in Karlsborg, at a dinner with friends and coworkers, and when Tom’s call came in he was still awake, reading in one of the guest rooms. A few phone calls later, he was sitting inside a roaring Hercules warplane heading north. A group of special forces guys had given him a ride and dropped him off just over an hour ago, before they flew on to some secret location. He took a cab to the hotel.
“Get dressed, then we can talk,” he said.
“I am,” Tom hissed.
Mattias studied Tom, who had managed to pull on the T-shirt and was now struggling with his pants. He and Tom were officers, elite soldiers, and certain habits ran deep. It made no difference how you woke a former special forces officer, no difference how tired or hungover he was. Two seconds later, he would be getting dressed, ready to go out into battle. But Tom really did look awful. Worn and disheveled. His huge body was covered in scars and marks from badly healed wounds, and even Mattias, who was used to violence and its effects, felt uncomfortable at the thought of what Tom must have been subjected to if it left behind those marks.
Tom ran his hand through his unruly hair and buttoned his pants, which hung too loosely from his hips. Though the physical changes were evident in Tom, that wasn’t the main difference. It was something else. In the past, everyone knew that you could give Tom Lexington a seemingly impossible task, drop him behind enemy lines, and trust that he would do what was necessary. He was the one everyone turned to once all other options were exhausted, once the situation seemed hopeless. Even when he and Mattias were out on duty, sometimes for days on end under the most awful conditions, Tom never looked this haggard. Today he looked as if he had one foot in the kingdom of the dead and was no longer sure where he belonged, among the living or those who had given up. His hair was long and dull; he was grizzled and had dark shadows on his face. But it wasn’t even that. Mattias was used to seeing Tom dirty, grizzled, and long-haired—certain tasks demanded it. It was his eyes. There was something missing from them. For the first time, Mattias was forced to admit that maybe it was true after all, that the rumors he had refused to believe were right: Tom Lexington was a broken man.
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