13 #2
“Of course I’d like that, you kn?ppgok .” The prickle in her sinuses had entirely disappeared, and she lifted her head from his shoulder to smile up at him. “The
extra bedroom is small, but it’s yours if you want it. Or there’s a nice hotel not too far from our home, if you’d rather
have more priva—”
Both their pockets dinged at the exact same moment.
Peter groaned. “Again?”
“If it’s any consolation, I doubt it’s your father this time.” She paused. “Unless he hacked into your phone and got my number
too. If so, I welcome further updates on his running club.”
“A toddler is likelier to hack my phone than my father,” he said dryly.
Without further ado, they unearthed their cells and checked the displays.
“Ron and R.J.” Peter groaned again. “Holy fuck, what now?”
She didn’t want to look. Hadn’t she suffered enough already? “I swear, Peter, if this is another critique of my body and its
attractiveness to young male viewers, I’m going to sit beside one of the showrunners at each and every damn panel and awards
show, wear sleeveless dresses, and keep my arms raised the entire time, just to fuck with them.”
After he scrolled through their message for a few seconds, Pe ter’s scowl faded. “Hold on, Pippi. No need to consult Sun Tzu’s The Art of Armpit War just yet.”
Well, now she was curious again. Curious enough to threaten him with pickled herring for only a couple of pointed shakes before
she put the jar away and read the message herself.
“They...” She skimmed their missive, then started back at the beginning. “They want us to do a last-minute press junket
together? Starting in LA, with more stops to be determined?”
“Apparently.” His shoulder hitched in a careless shrug, but the smile creasing his bearded cheeks belied his feigned nonchalance.
“In theory, because we’re the only main cast members who’ve already finished filming, which is true. Although that doesn’t
really explain the urgent need for good publicity in the first place, does it?”
“Hmmm.” She drummed her fingers against her chin, cultivating a thoughtful air as she bit back her own smile. “It’s all very
mysterious, Peter.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with those leaked scripts.”
“Those terrible leaked scripts,” she corrected primly.
He countered, “Those terrible and genuine leaked scripts.”
She acknowledged that point with a raised forefinger. “And our sudden press junket is definitely unrelated to how they’re
already getting reamed online by fans before the final season even finishes filming.”
“They certainly wouldn’t dispatch two of their more popular actors to combat nasty internet rumors.” He offered her a smirk.
“Especially since they’ve never acknowledged the popularity of one of those actors, because they’re petty little assholes.”
She nearly choked on thin air. “Peter! How much wine did you have tonight?”
In all their years together, he’d never consumed alcohol. But he’d also never criticized the showrunners so openly. Not once.
“None.” He raised his brows. “I’m drunk on power. Power and freedom.”
Ah. Now she understood. “They need you. More than you need them, at least for now.”
“That’s part of it.” He inclined his head, his smile fading. “But not everything.”
“What’s the rest?”
His knuckles lightly stroked the curve of her cheek, leaving heat in their wake. “I’m finally free to be with you, Maria.
After six years.”
They weren’t touching anywhere else, and it didn’t matter. Gods above, those strong, careful hands could persuade her into
any amount of foolishness. Part of her must have understood that since their first night together.
No wonder she’d run.
But if she now intended to let him catch her, if she wanted him to see her for who she truly was, if she was willing to risk
being a fool and breaking her own heart... yes. He definitely needed to come to Sweden and meet her family, and it was
past time she knew more about his too.
In fact, she had a brilliant way to make that happen.
When she edged back a half step from him, his brows drew together. Holding up a finger in a mute request for his patience,
she bent her head over her cell, typed out a reply to Ron and R.J.’s message, and tapped send .
Peter’s phone immediately dinged.
“What did you—” He paused, forehead still furrowed. “Oh.”
She beamed up at him. “Smart, yes?”
“Yeah.” Another pause, this one lengthier.
His gaze firmly af fixed to his cell, he didn’t look up as he spoke.
“Maria, I don’t think Ron and R.J. will pay for us to visit each other’s hometowns as part of the press junket, even if we shoot some footage for a bonus feature while we’re there.
And while I’m happy to see Sweden, I’m not sure a trip to Wisconsin—”
For the second time in ten minutes, both their phones dinged.
With a sigh, Peter abandoned whatever he’d planned to say.
Reading the newest message from their showrunners didn’t take long. Apparently Ron and R.J. wanted to get the matter settled
quickly. They were even desperate enough for good publicity to take a suggestion from her. Kind of.
“So we’ll apparently be going to Sweden and Wisconsin after our stint in LA,” she said, smug satisfaction suffusing every
syllable. “To film a bonus feature and do more press interviews.”
Slowly, his brow smoothed. “Which they claim was their intent all along, even though they only specified LA in the original
message.”
“Complete coincidence, I’m sure,” she said.
He gave a little snort of amusement, then simply... looked at her.
The moment stretched like elastic, taut enough to snap.
“Earlier tonight, I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again. But now we’re being asked— ordered —to spend at least two weeks in each other’s company. Day and night.” He stepped into her, crowding her against the door to
her suite. With the pad of his thumb, he traced the swell of her lower lip, the soft sweep of her jaw. “In LA, we’re sharing
the same hotel suite. Did you see that?”
He didn’t seem to expect an answer, which was good. She couldn’t manage to locate words. Not in English, not in Swedish. Not
while his dark eyes consumed her, intent and hot, and his hands gently but relentlessly skimmed over her flesh and set it
afire.
“I’ve been fantasizing for years.” A caressing fingertip brushed the sensitive edge of her ear, and she had to lean against the solid support of the door to remain standing. “I hope you’re ready.”
That sounded like a challenge.
And as always, she would fight to win.
“What do you want, Peter?” Deliberately, she surveyed him from crown to toes, her gaze lingering between his legs until his
dick pushed insistently against the placket of his jeans, visibly swelling under her attention. “Tell me. In detail.”
He waited until she met his eyes again, and then slowly, slowly gathered her hair and wound it around his fist. A light tug,
and a bolt of heat raced down her spine and between her trembling legs.
“I want my hands on you. My name on your lips, my tongue on your clit. My cock planted deep in your pussy as you come hard
enough to cry.” His lips curved, and it wasn’t a kind expression. It was the hard smile of a Viking. A conqueror ready to
pillage. “I want all of you. You have no idea how fucking much.”
Over the years, she’d suspected he wanted her in his bed again. Especially since their one night together had lingered in
her memory, her dreams, and her fantasies for a long, long time now, and she’d figured it had to be the same for him.
Sex that good demanded a replay. If not physically, then mentally.
The apparent ferocity of his desire still shocked her.
He was right. She hadn’t realized, couldn’t have conceived of him or any man wanting her that much and restraining himself
that tightly for so long. His will must be... implacable.
Fy fan , even the thought of it made her thighs squeeze together.
“You going to let me show you, Maria?” His dark eyes studied her as he gently pulled her hair, tugging until she moaned.
With pleasure, not pain, because he was so careful with her.
So very, very careful. “When you come back to LA, back to me, will you let me touch you whenever I want, however I want?”
Her response required every ounce of her faltering concentration, but she refused to surrender too much ground on such a key
battlefield.
With the lightest press of her fingertips, she glided over the length of his jeans-covered erection, and he went very still.
When he finally dragged air into his oxygen-starved lungs, his sharp, shaky inhalation sounded painful.
He smelled delectable, like cedar and skin damp with heat. If she licked his neck, the salt would sting her bitten tongue.
When they reached that LA hotel suite, she intended to devour him.
“The next time I see you, you can touch me however and whenever you want. As much as you want.” Slowly, she smiled. “But only
if I can do the same.”
His fist in her hair was still so careful. So controlled. But with his free hand, he gripped the doorframe with white knuckles,
clenching it so hard she wondered whether he’d rip off the wood.
Her ponytail might be wrapped around his hand. He might be looming over her, face hard with lust. But she had him precisely
how she wanted him: stone-jawed, desire a hectic flush across his cheekbones, pulse throbbing hard at the base of his neck.
Desperate with need. For her.
Sadly, however, she didn’t have time to oversee hotel renovations necessitated by thwarted lust, so this delicious encounter
needed to end.
“That said,” she added, “if you tickle me, I’ll force-feed you salty licorice until you puke. Don’t test me, skitstovel . All those long, dark Swedish winters have made me cold and ruthless.”
The tension abruptly broke, as she’d intended.
He freed her hair and gathered her into his arms with a hoarse laugh. “I thought you Swedes were all about—what’s that word again? Hygge?”
“That’s mostly the Danes and Norwegians.” She raised a brow. “But if you want to experience Scandinavian coziness, I can certainly
accommodate that.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “How?”
“After you vomit, I’ll wrap you in a blanket.” Her tone was dry enough to desiccate the entire rain-soaked island. “I imagine
that would feel quite cozy.”
His chin dropped to her shoulder as he laughed again, and he squeezed her in a fierce embrace. “You’re mean as hell, and you’ll
be back in LA in two weeks. I refuse to miss you, Ivarsson.”
Her hands slid down his back and over his gorgeous butt, and his cock twitched against her belly. “I won’t miss you even harder.”
Speaking of hard things, she should let him and his erection go. Any time now. Although, to be fair, he wasn’t moving away
either. And she had the definite feeling that when she finally said her farewells to Peter, she wouldn’t feel like laughing
anymore.
“We should seal our not-missing-each-other pact with a kiss.” He raised his head and scratched his beard in contemplation.
“That’s the Swedish custom, correct?”
“Our daily lives revolve around the metric system, Speedos, and affirming how little we’ll miss one another by kissing.” Loftily,
she clarified, “ French kissing, obviously.”
He almost managed to stifle his snort. “Because you’re European.”
“Because we’re European.”
“Well, then.” His eyes flared with heat once more. “Consider me the newest member of the EU.”
Then his mouth claimed hers, and she lost track of time. Frankly, she lost track of everything but Peter. In the end, she ran so late, he had to help her pack, and she made the ferry with only seconds to spare. There was no time for even a hurried final embrace on the dock.
But as long as she could see the horizon, there he was. Immovable. Patient in ways she was only beginning to understand. Watchful.
Waiting.