All In (21 page)

Aha.

“I know him,” Natalia said. “His name's David. He's a venture capitalist.” She wobbled a bit in her sky-high heels. “You know, the kind of person our family hates.”

Alexander grinned. “My dear big sister, are you by any chance a little tipsy?”

She sniffed dismissively. “Aren't you?” she asked.

“Always,” Alexander said. He turned to David again. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

Natalia saw David's eyes twinkle, and she thought he had no right to look so darned good.

“I'm David Hammar,” he said. “And if it's okay with you, I'd really like to speak to your sister for a moment.”

Alexander was about to say something, but Natalia interrupted him. “What do you mean, if it's okay with him?” she asked, irritated. “Don't I have free will?”

David looked at her, for a long time. The look in those gray-blue eyes was impossible to read, but if anything he seemed amused, and she felt so drawn to him. Her body was starting to lean toward him; her fingers wanted to slide over his biceps, into his hair.

The silence dragged on, and then with a dry laugh in his voice, Alexander said, “Well, I suppose I'll be moving along.” He gave Natalia a quick kiss on the cheek and said, “My offer to kick Jonas's ass is still good. I'll be here somewhere if you need me.” His eyes fixed on a young woman with large breasts and long hair, and he smiled broadly. “For a little while anyway. Ciao.” He sauntered off.

David was still looking into Natalia's eyes. “How are you?” he asked once Alexander had left.

“Just dandy,” she said with feigned nonchalance. “And you, how are you?”

“Good. I've been working a lot this week.”

His voice was quiet, and she leaned toward him until she smelled the scent of his aftershave. She wanted to close her eyes and just breathe in his scent. Pull off his clothes, rub against him. Damn, she had it bad.

“You look really amazing,” he murmured, looking as if he were caressing her with his eyes, skimming down her neck, stopping at her breasts. Her breathing sped up; she became aware of everything: the fabric of her dress, the sensitivity of her skin, his scent, the heat in the air.

“Thanks,” she said and cleared her throat. She wished she had a glass in her hand. “You look great too,” she said honestly. Because he was dressed all in black—formfitting black slacks, shiny leather belt, black shirt—and was ethereally good-looking. God, how she wanted to taste him, bit by bit.

David smiled, and Natalia had the awful feeling that she'd said that last bit out loud.

“When did you arrive?” she asked, retreating to safe, polite topics. She could be polite in five languages.

“Michel and I drove. We got here today.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I rented a house. Down by the water. And you?”

Natalia thought about her sex nest. “Åsa loaned me her guest cottage,” she said casually. “I'm staying there.”

The noise of the party got louder with each minute. They'd started serving the food, and the band was playing. It was almost impossible to carry on a normal conversation.

“Do you want to get out of here for a little while?” he asked.

She hesitated. This was J-O's party. He was the host, and she was his closest colleague. But people were partying and drinking. No one was going to miss her. Not if they were only gone for a little while. “Yes,” she said. “Just give me a sec.”

 

David watched Natalia walk away, her long legs, her short red dress swinging. If his intention was to put an end to whatever was going on between them, then he had failed catastrophically. Everything, every last thing about her, drew him to her.

She returned with red lips and a huge smile.

And something inside him fell apart.

What he was planning . . .

It wasn't going to sadden or disappoint Natalia. It was going to
crush
her.

This was his very last chance not to hurt her any further. He ought to say something meaningless about this being bad timing, about having to prioritize his work, and leave her. He knew that. That would be humane and decent. If she already thought he was an asshole, then the later blow wouldn't be so hard.

He
knew
that.

And then she swept past, gave him an expectant smile, and all he could think was that she was the most beautiful, the sexiest, most fun woman he'd ever met, and that this was their last night together, and that he was unscrupulous enough to want to enjoy as much of her as he could.

They strolled down to the water. There were people everywhere—on the beach, on the docks, at the cafés—and David didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention, so he didn't touch her. Didn't want her to have to explain her relationship to him.

Fuck, the press would slaughter her if they found out.

At least he could do that, protect her from prying eyes. David looked out at the waters of the Kattegatt, which connected the Baltic Sea to the North Sea.

“That was Jonas Jägerhed you were talking to earlier,” he said when he put two and two together, remembering where he'd seen the man before.

She laughed. “Sometimes it feels like you have some kind of dossier on me that you've memorized. Yes, that was Jonas. That was the first time we'd seen each other in a year.”

He helped her down a steep step. “Those shoes weren't made for walking,” he pointed out. Narrow high heels, even narrower straps around her strong ankles.

“No, Åsa says they're shoes to capture men with.”

He laughed. “Are they working?”

She blinked at him. She didn't seem drunk anymore; she just looked happy and a little naughty. “Well, you're here, aren't you?”

She looked out at the water, and David positioned himself behind her, shielding her from onlookers from behind. In front of them was just the sea.

“It was weird to see Jonas again,” she continued. “But it wasn't as awful as I thought it would be. Emotions are such a strange thing. Time makes everything better eventually. It's a little sad, how changeable everything is.”

“A little comforting, too,” he said, putting his hand on her arm. She leaned lightly against him, moving her shoulder blades slightly against his chest. He ran his hand over her skin.

She trembled, drew in her breath. “I suppose so,” she said quietly.

“Why did it end?” He asked the most personal of questions, the one he actually had no right to ask. But he just found it inconceivable. How could anyone be with Natalia De la Grip and not slay dragons for her?

If everything was different, if she was his girlfriend . . .

Natalia was silent for a long time, looking out at the quiet sea. The sound of the waves on the pier and the occasional splash was all they could hear.

“My period started yesterday,” she said, and David thought she was changing the subject. “It's never worked right, but this wasn't anything unusual. This morning it was already over.” She smiled, and he knew that they had to have sex tonight; he couldn't leave her without sharing that incredible experience one last time.

“I never thought there might be anything wrong. I've always wanted to have a family, and Jonas is very fond of kids.” She rubbed her palms on her upper arms to warm herself up, still looking out at the water. Her voice was quiet and steady, almost distanced. “But Jonas is the oldest son; he has a title and a large estate. Only a biological child can inherit a noble title. In some circles that's incredibly important.”

She turned around and looked at David. The sun was still up, but the light was turning golden, and as her eyes caught its rays they began to sparkle like pure gold.

“This might sound like a first-world problem, but for many years my period was my biggest enemy. God, how I hated when it came.”

She shook her head and looked out at the water again, up at the sky, anywhere far away.

David waited. When her voice began again, it was so empty, so sad that he shivered.

“Jonas left me the same day he found out in black and white that I can't have children.”

27

Å
sa peered at Michel, who was standing in the middle of the room scratching his forehead. Man, was he sexy with his shaved head. She'd never gone for the gangster look before. Most criminal types were insufferable narcissists, and the way she saw it, there was only room for one egotist in her relationships. His shiny suits, garish shirts, and flashy rings were in a league of their own, of course. She crossed her legs in front of her. But they turned her on, no doubt about it. He wasn't one of those slick finance boys, nor some tough thug. He was Michel, the nicest and most respectable man she'd ever met. The fact that Michel had turned her down once didn't make him a bad guy. She realized that today, ten years too late. But that didn't mean it hadn't hurt like hell.

“You must have noticed,” he said, snapping Åsa out of her revery. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't even heard what he said. She furrowed her brow. She had been serious about what she'd said when she allowed him to drag her in here. She didn't want to talk. No good ever came from talking, regardless of what Natalia and Åsa's irritating psychotherapist thought.

Talking
hurt
. People said rotten things and you never came out of it feeling good. So she really didn't want to talk.

She ran her eyes over his legs and hips and stomach, her gaze drifting to his crotch.

What she wanted was to get laid.

Natalia was always saying Åsa used sex to deaden her feelings, but Åsa didn't agree. She used alcohol to deaden her feelings; she just really enjoyed sex. She was good at sex. And Michel wanted her, even a blind person could see that.

“Are you listening to what I'm saying?” he asked indignantly.

“Sorry,” Åsa said, making a show of looking at her watch. Three minutes had gone by.

She got up from the armchair where she'd been sitting. Michel almost jumped back. She traced one finger along her décolletage, looking deep into his eyes. Two seconds and then he would be hers.

Michel shook his head. “You're not listening,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for how badly I behaved when we ran into each other at the bar. I was surprised and I said things I regret. I'm sorry.” He backed away farther.

“It doesn't matter,” she said impatiently, with a dismissive wave of her hand. She took a high-heeled step toward him. He watched her warily. She smiled a little. “I let all of that go,” she continued, which was maybe not entirely truthful, because he had hurt her, at one time anyway, and it was still there, like an encapsulated spike in her heart. But that was then, and this was now, and nothing ever came of thinking about old issues, she reminded herself firmly.

She cocked her head and lowered her voice to a hoarse purr. “You have a few minutes left.” She smiled, blinked slowly, and approached him.

He shook his head. “No, Åsa,” he said seriously. “We need to talk. I mean it.
Just
talk.”

And there it was.

The panic.

Åsa stiffened, lowered her arms. If Michel didn't want to have sex with her, if he really just wanted to
talk it out
—there was no expression in the world she hated more than that—then there was no point in their even seeing each other. She had imagined that they would argue a little, he would pursue her, she would tease and taunt and then regain the power that he'd stolen from her that one vulnerable evening. Then they would end up in bed and have an explosive night. Michel would see what he'd missed out on, and then it would be over. She would have won. But this? No. The panic made her break into a cold sweat and opened floodgates that were supposed to stay closed.

When she'd met Michel she had still been in shock. Apparently you could be in shock for years.

Her family had been obliterated, so maybe it wasn't so strange. An accident, a phone call from the police, and her whole world suddenly collapsed.

She'd moved in with Natalia's family. There had been papers to sign, lawyers to listen to, decisions to make. When she occasionally thought back on that time now, it was like it had all happened to someone else.

School and then Michel had been her bedrock in the chaos. At school she'd just been one student in the crowd, which had been so wonderful. And Michel had always been there, waiting, never in the spotlight, but always dependably waiting in the wings. And they'd become friends. She'd teased him, flirted with other guys to test him. Nothing had happened. He'd just watched her with those black eyes of his, impossible to decipher. Sometimes she'd thought she'd seen hunger. Sometimes compassion. Always friendship. Somewhere along the way she'd fallen in love, of course. She'd had to drink until she was really drunk in order to muster the courage to approach him, which was so horribly childish and embarrassing. He'd rejected her. Just like that. Hadn't wanted what she'd offered.

She'd gone home with someone else that night, obviously.

But that was lifetimes ago, she reminded herself, forcing air into her lungs. She was a grown-up. She could command herself not to think about that.

“Michel, do we have to talk about that now? Couldn't we maybe . . .” But her voice lacked conviction. She'd gambled everything on that one card; she'd bet it all on sex and had lost. Again. He was turning her down, again. This was starting to become a very unpleasant habit. She sank back down into the armchair.

Michel squatted down in front of her and put his hands on her legs, and Åsa nearly flew out of her skin. In all these years, he'd never touched her, not really, not like a man. His hands were big and rough, just like the rest of him. His arms and legs bulged inside the fabric of his suit.

She looked into his eyes, black and nice. Or was that pity she saw?

She couldn't think anymore, couldn't breathe. She stretched her back. She was Åsa Bjelke. She could walk right back out to the party and in record time have a dozen men fawning over her. She didn't
need
this.

She pushed his hands away, stood up, and smoothed out her dress. “Your ten minutes are up,” she said coolly. “You really can't have anything more to say to me. You're not interested, that's fine.” She shook out her hair, gathered her strength where she always gathered it—from anger, from indifference. “Thanks for this little chat. I'm sure we both agree that we don't need to repeat it.”

“Åsa . . . ,” he said.

She shook her head. She'd had enough. “Good-bye, Michel,” she said.