Chapter 27
They were definitely on the trail of something.
Didrik understood that Bente wanted to find out more, so he stayed behind when the others went home.
Don and Elnaz had been fired up by the unexpected turn of events, and seeing the relief on Bente’s face, Didrik had realized how uneasy she had been over the idea of making a show with a different angle than the one she’d planned.
They drank mineral water and black coffee all night as they continued their research. They looked at the coordinates again and used Google Maps to “walk” around the roads in the Médoc in the vicinity of the vineyard.
“Look at this!” Bente was pointing eagerly at the screen.
Didrik leaned closer, picking up her powdery, slightly spicy scent: the way the sheets in the hotel room had smelled after she had left his room a couple of weeks ago. It had been so ridiculous, but he had stayed put for a long time that day, not wanting to leave the bed and the scent of her.
He had also needed time to think—of course she had been right to say it wouldn’t be a brilliant idea to embark on a relationship when they were working together.
And yet those days with her had done something to him.
He had come alive, had done what he loved best without constantly questioning his decision to work on a TV show.
Working on a show together with Bente had been fun; their collaboration had made the job even more enjoyable.
And it had been interesting to get to know her.
That was why he had been somewhat taken aback by her sudden departure.
Once again he was surrounded by her scent, causing his stomach to flip.
He glanced at her profile, those beautiful red lips that he had been allowed to kiss to his heart’s content for one night.
She had swept her hair to one side; the nape of her neck was exposed, and he followed its contours with his eyes.
He so wanted to caress that soft curve near the top of her shoulders.
Her hair shone in the glow of the candle on the table.
She prodded him gently in the ribs. “Hey, check this out!”
He focused on the screen.
“This could be the main building of a vineyard.”
“A vineyard?” Didrik gazed at the simple stone building on Google Maps Street View.
“Vineyards aren’t always as grand as you might think,” Bente explained. “Even a chateau doesn’t necessarily have to be a castle, despite the name. But if you look here . . .” She moved the cursor to a nearby building.
“Chateau du Boda,” Didrik read aloud.
“That’s the neighboring property, and it seems to be in use. Maybe we could reach out to the owners, see if they know anything about the address we have.”
Didrik nodded. “So it seems likely that the bottle was sent from there.”
He stared at the map—was it Sven who had sent the bottle? Had he been there—in that stone building?
“I recognize the name Chateau du Boda—it’s not one of the bigger producers, but I think it’s old,” Bente said. “We should definitely contact the owners.”
They flicked through all the books Bente had on Bordeaux and gathered as much information as they could about Médoc, and more specifically about the area around the address they’d found.
Many hours later, after the sun had begun to rise, casting a faint light through the closed curtains, they booked train tickets to Bordeaux.
“This little hotel looks super-cozy, and they’ve got rooms available!”
She reserved two single rooms. Didrik couldn’t help feeling disappointed, but realized it would have seemed odd if they’d booked a double. They weren’t a couple, and the receipt would be going to the production company.
The relaxed atmosphere between them was such a relief.
Didrik had been nervous about this evening—how would Bente behave toward him?
Would she be cold, like after their . . .
night, their wonderful night together? She had made it very clear how she wanted things to be—and now she had suggested another trip.
She had clearly softened her posture toward him, and he’d even had the opportunity to look into those sparkling eyes again.
They were going to travel the week after next, getting back just in time for TV24’s annual summer party, which was on a Thursday evening. He guessed that she hadn’t been invited, as she’d only just started working for the company again.
“Listen, would you like to come to the summer party with me? My ticket is for two people.”
Her face lit up. “Oh yes—I’d love to!”
He immediately started wondering how they would go to the party—as colleagues?
She looked at hm in the gentle morning light. “Thanks for a great night’s work.”
He smiled. “No, thank you.” He met her gaze and saw her pupils dilate just before he leaned forward and kissed her.
She responded. At first it was a simple kiss, perfect and all they needed, as if they’d never done anything more.
He felt as if the kiss had been in the air all night, and here was the proof.
Her soft, smooth lips tasted of coffee, her tongue tasted sweet, and he thought he could also pick up the flavor of wine they had drunk—dried berries and cedarwood.
Then the kiss grew more urgent. He pulled her close, onto his lap so that she straddled him as he buried his hands in her hair, then slowly caressed the nape of her neck.
He continued along her arms, her skin hot beneath his fingers.
Down to the curve of her waist, then her hip, pushing up her skirt so that he could touch her bare thigh.
She let out a quiet moan as he stroked the sensitive skin.
He bit her lower lip, kissed her even harder, and pressed her close to his body.
She quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Kissed her way down his throat, her warm, light touch making him whimper.
For a second he stopped. Met her gaze. It was growing light outside, the first rays of the sun giving the room a bronze-colored glow. Her green eyes were almost luminous.
To think that sex could be like this. That he could feel this way about a woman.
He couldn’t compare the attraction and desire he felt right now with anything he had experienced before.
In one rapid movement, he picked her up and carried her over to her bed.
Put her down, took off her dress, and looked at her lying there for a little while.
When he saw her pale-pink underwear, it was all he could do not to rip it off her body right away.
Instead he slowly unhooked her bra, then stroked her breasts as he slipped off the shoulder straps and dropped it on the floor.
Caressed the outside of her lacy panties before taking them off.
Then he buried himself in her. He wanted to taste her, smell her.
Wanted her wetness, her warmth to swallow him up.
He had longed for this moment.
He woke late in the morning—it was almost lunchtime. Unlike the previous occasion, Bente looked at him with affection when she woke up. She stretched her arms above her head like a contented cat and rolled over to face him. Ran her fingers over his chest and kissed him.
He grew hard straightaway. It didn’t matter that they’d had sex only a few hours earlier, he wanted Bente again, and again.
Afterward she pulled on a robe and went into the kitchen, but came back a minute or so later.
“The coffee is on, but I wanted to curl up with you while I’m waiting.”
He smiled, held her close, played with a long strand of her auburn hair.
“Just think, in two weeks we’ll be in Bordeaux,” he said, tucking the strand behind her ear.
“I know, it’s unreal.” She smiled up at him. “I’m so looking forward to going there with you.”
“Have you been before?”
She nodded. “A few times.”
Of course. That was where Frederic was from.
“But it’ll be cool to discover new areas.” She gave him a kiss. “Coffee.” She moved to get up, but he stopped her.
“Let me serve you.” Didrik got out of bed. “This whole project makes me feel like an investigative journalist—I love it!” He pulled on his boxers.
She laughed. “I can see you as a journalist!”
“It’s actually my dream job.”
“I thought being a historian was your dream?”
“It is. But if I hadn’t been a historian, I would have liked to be a journalist. I’ve written about history for a few periodicals, but I’ve always wished I could write investigative pieces.”
“You think traveling around Paris and Bordeaux, meeting winemakers, and going to museums counts as investigative journalism?”
He responded by throwing a pillow at her. “Shut up and let me pretend.” He sank down on the bed, laughing, and threw another pillow at her.
“I will absolutely let you pretend, and I’ll keep that dream in mind. We’ll be doing some filming, and you can deliver some serious, explanatory monologues to camera, with subdued lighting so we get that real Mission: Investigate atmosphere.”
“Can we disguise the voice of someone we’re interviewing?”
“That would be perfect.” She nodded in agreement.
“So what’s your dream job?” He looked at her with curiosity.
“Working with wines. On TV.” She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“But if you weren’t doing that, what would you do?”
She thought for a moment. “I honestly don’t know, this is what I want to do.”
“What did you want to do when you were little?”
She laughed, shook her head. “No idea.”
“No cute dream job? Breeding cats, being a ballerina?”
“I don’t think so.” Her tone became slightly distant, as it always did when she didn’t want to get into something, so he didn’t pursue it. A second later she grinned at him. “How about you? What did you want to be?”
“Easy. A firefighter.”