“The day after,” he begins, “I was supposed to have a final call with the woman who wanted the room. So, there we are, in my bed at ten in the morning.” He gesticulates with his glass, the wine shaking inside. His face is flushed, his eyes energized. It’s as if something had possessed him—the spirit of a party animal not afraid to share anything with a group of friends.
I shrink in my seat, my stomach tight with fear and other obscure things.
“Sol goes out of the room to make a call,” he continues. “Two seconds later, my phone rings on my night table.”
Everyone laughs, some clapping or saying, “Oh my God, what a coincidence!”
Erik nods, enjoying the comments. “Isn’t it? Then we laughed about it and concluded that we should go ahead with the rental. It was destiny, after all.”
He looks at me with admiration, the sweet scent of grapes and alcohol exhaling from his mouth, which is too close to mine.
And getting closer.
Oh, my God of Thunder.
His lips reach mine.
He kisses me.
It lasts one second.
One second in which I feel a soft pressure on my mouth and forget I’m angry at him for changing our story without telling me.
One second in which my skin tingles and prickles in a thousand different spots.
One second when the butterflies return with full power, lifting my stomach as if I’ve jumped off a cliff.
I don’t have time to react. To grab his neck and hold him there longer. It’s a stolen kiss. Fleeting and breathtaking, the aftermath more powerful than the brief instant our lips connected.
Because the feelings linger. And they get more overwhelming as I think about what happened.
My heart pounds against my ribs as Erik sits straight in his chair again. I don’t hear what is happening around me. The noises at the table are like the humming of static from an old television. Erik is deliberately not looking at me; he’s talking to others, drinking, and eating chips.
He can’t simply kiss me and ignore me after. He can’t make up that stupid story we didn’t agree on and talk about us sleeping together with my coworkers without my authorization. Who does he think he is? And I’m sure he didn’t just make that up on the go. Who can do that? No...he rehearsed it in his head before we came. He hated my version and betrayed me instead of telling me what he thought would work better.
And then he kissed me.
I excuse myself to go to the toilet, and Lars tells me I should use the bathroom upstairs because the tap is broken in the one downstairs. I climb to the second floor, glad to be away from the noisy party. It’s a big house. I might even be able to make a call and not be heard.
I’m thinking of calling Larissa to seek her advice when I hear footsteps climbing the stairs. I turn around and see Erik on the landing. He gently pushes me inside the bathroom and locks the door.
I turn to face him with my heart in my throat. He is so handsome this evening. He has trimmed his beard because I asked him if he could. And gosh, he looks hot, wearing a gray button-down shirt I ironed for him, with his hair neatly brushed back and curled in a bun, his jaw even more defined now with only a thin layer of smooth beard covering it. He is no longer a shabby Viking.
He is the sexiest man on Earth.
I swallow hard, cursing my thoughts. He comes closer, the smell of wine reaching me before his face is inches away from mine. I battle the urge to shout at him and the wish to pull him in for a kiss. A proper one.
Everything is exploding inside of me like fireworks, and I try to control myself one breath at a time.
“Sorry about what happened back there,” he mutters, his deep voice sounding even more hoarse when he speaks so low. Two of his buttons are open, and I feel like closing them...
Or ripping the rest open.
Jeez. I need to sleep with someone soon. Not Erik. One little kiss and a few hand touches, and that’s how you react, stupid body? Don’t you communicate with my brain? With my memories? The ones where Erik says that nothing real will ever happen between us? Did you forget you live with this man, and you will never have peace in your own home if something does happen?
“Why did you change the story and not tell me?” I try to look harsh. My heart is beating so loud I’m afraid he might hear it.
“I panicked, okay? Sorry.” His face looks about as innocent as the devil’s would—and God, it’s sexy.
I take a deep breath to control my riot of emotions. “You’ve been rehearsing this new version.” I won’t let this go. When my annoyance is gone, I don’t know what will be left, and I’m afraid to find out.
“What makes you say that?”
“Come on, Erik. We don’t trick each other,” I stress the last two words. Transparency has been our deal from the start.
“Fine, I hated your version. I thought we wouldn’t need to use it, that we could just say something vague and lead the conversation elsewhere.” He gazes toward the mirror, avoiding me. “I was still working on the story in my head and hating every version I made too. So I had to improvise.”
“After Martin was an ass.”
Erik chuckles. “Yes.” A lopsided grin grows across his face and does strange things to my insides. “This is the closest to an insult I’ve heard coming out of your mouth. What’s up with you and swearing?”
“I don’t swear.” I shrug, keeping my face serious. He’s trying to distract me. Make me forget the kiss.
“Like you don’t do drugs.” He is looking at me once again, the grin still there, reminding me of things we discussed on our long bike ride.
“Yes. Like I rescue whales, donate blood, and plant trees. I’m a saint.”
Erik gives a repressed laugh, his sweet breath tickling my face. He is tilting his head down to stare into my eyes, as he is almost a head taller than me.
