All In (22 page)

28

T
he guest cottage Natalia had borrowed was well down below the main house, quite private, and all the way out by the water.

“This is incredible,” David said as they stood in front of the enormous windows admiring the view.

“I know,” she said. The windows ran from floor to ceiling, and outside only the sea was visible. No beach, no people, nothing other than water until the horizon met the sky. The July night was still light, but the sun had set, and a full moon hung over the warm water.

The cottage consisted of just one room, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. Everything was white. The wood floor had been painted white, white textiles, white walls. The sea played the starring roll. The sea and the bed, made with white linens and white pillows.

David looked at the bed for a long time and then at her. Natalia shivered. There was pure hunger in that look. She stepped right into his embrace, hard and urgent. She felt brave and bold, and she kissed him until they were both panting. He moved his hands to her neck, to her cheeks, and looked at her, studying her carefully.

He was like that, attentive, a quick study. She had never felt so important, as if what she wanted, what she liked, was important to David, maybe most important of all. It was as if he studied her, tested his way forward, rejected what she didn't like, gave her more of what she wanted. It was potently erotic. And in the midst of all the sensual darkness: safe.

He stroked her throat, down to her collarbone, following his own movements with intense focus. Natalia lost track of anything besides his eyes and fingers. He pulled her dress off, she undid his belt, and they undressed each other with almost familiar motions.

He smiled at her extravagant lingerie. She hadn't realized it before, but the sheer lingerie, expensive and French, was representative of what she was with him, what she became with him. A sexy, hungry woman, a woman who expected and demanded, without shame, the best the world had to offer her, a woman who wanted this man and dared to claim him.

Their previous lovemaking had been either fiery or playfully passionate. Today it was so intense that Natalia could hardly breathe.

She lay down on the bed, and he lay down beside her. He spread her legs apart and carefully caressed her while showering her with airy kisses.

He bit her on the shoulder and murmured, “Let me make this good for you. I need to make this good for you, better than before.”

The raw emotion in his voice tied her insides in knots. “Yes,” she whispered, and then she was swept away by his tongue, his hands, and his body, coming in a quick orgasm.

Afterward she lay on her back, sweaty and relaxed. David kissed her with feather-light kisses, stroked her hair. He brought water and watched while she drank. He took the glass, took a few gulps, and then set it on the floor. She reached for him, wanted him in her, but he pulled away.

“Not yet,” he said quietly. He kissed her on the ribs, gently on the breasts, so incredibly tenderly. She sank down into the bedclothes, closed her eyes, letting him caress her, pulling her into yet another wave of sensations. Unbelievably enough he brought her to another orgasm, and she almost curled up into a ball afterward, as if her body couldn't handle any more. He ran his hand down her back, helping her unfurl again, carefully laying her on her stomach, rubbing her back, down over her buttocks—so amazingly sensitive. Hot blood and warmth and lust surged, emptying her of all thought and leaving only emotions, sensations, and her body. Her thighs: the inside, the backs, so many sensations in that thin, tender skin, so much desire. And although it was impossible, even though she was spent, Natalia's body responded again.

It was as if she was somewhere else, far inside herself. He rolled her onto her back. She was limp like a doll. He laid her legs over his own legs, his hairs scratchy beneath her thighs. He stuffed a pillow under her head, held a heavy arm over her legs. When she was comfortable, he spread her legs, stroking her, bent down and kissed her.

“David, I can't. No more,” she murmured. The touch was too intense.

“Shh,” he said. And his finger found its way in, gentle but secure. So skillful. “You're going to come again, Natalia,” he said. “You know you can, and I want it. I want you to come for me.” And then another finger, and he found all the most sensitive spots with his slow methodical movements. The stroking and her passive position made her breathing heavier and heavier. And finally, when she was writhing, he pulled on a condom and entered her.

Natalia could hardly move as he filled her. It was as if every part of her had been made to receive him, buried in the bedclothes, surrounded by pillows and fresh air. He brushed the hair out of her face; she was sweaty and hot and floating around in the soft bed, the mild night, and the sounds of their lovemaking. He kissed her. He tasted so good, warm and familiar, big and safe. She opened her eyes, and he was so close, so close, and it was
too
intense and something in her couldn't handle all the intimacy, so she closed her eyes again.

“Natalia,” he whispered in her ear. He nibbled her earlobe. “Look at me,” he said, and she obediently opened her eyes again.

They were so close, no space between them. He was looking right into her as he moved inside, deep, determined movements that pushed and pressed until the impossible happened and she came again. As her emotions overflowed, her tears were near.

“Natalia,” he whispered again, just her name, over and over again.

She put her hands on the sides of his face, holding him close, so close. She draped one leg around his waist, never wanted them to be separated. He put one hand on her face, and she let herself sink into him, with her body and soul and heart.

He thrust into her, slowly but rhythmically. Again. And again. He murmured her name, softly. And slowly as a summer breeze, lazy as a placid sea, completely effortlessly, their eyes locked on each other, she started to come again. His beautiful eyes, gray and blue, became so veiled and glassy, and she watched him come, silently, intensely, without taking his eyes off her, and something broke inside her, the tears welled up and she had never been so close to another person, another soul, hadn't thought it was possible.

“David,” she whispered.

He started to say something but stopped, as if his voice wouldn't hold, and she had to close her eyes again. It was too raw, too tender. She was forced to shut him out for a little bit, otherwise she would come apart.

David kissed her eyelids and she sobbed.

He stayed put and it was perfect.

“Natalia,” was all he said.

She flung her arms around him, buried her face against his throat, ran her fingers over his scars. There were no words, she thought, because that had been an experience you would really need to invent new words to describe. She stuck out her tongue and licked his skin. She bit gently, heard him moan, and then he covered her mouth with his. Of everything they did, she still loved his kisses the most. Without interrupting the kiss, he scooped her up—God, he was so strong—pulled her into his lap, and she sat that way, in his naked lap with the sea and the moon outside, and they were kissing. Skin to skin, heart to heart.

 

Later, when the night had actually gotten a little dark, they pulled the bed all the way over to the open windows and lay in it watching the sea. She lay on her stomach, with her hands under her chin, and felt how he climbed onto her, with his hands on either side of her body. He entered her slowly, filled her until she gasped from the bedclothes. He made love to her in silence, slowly while the sea breeze and the salt air wafted in the open windows.

 

She woke up hours later, still with her head down by the edge of the bed but with a sheet over her body and a pillow under her cheek. She just remembered him whispering her name, and then she must have fallen asleep. She wondered how long she'd been out. When she looked up, David was out on the dock that ran along the outside of the cottage like a simple balcony. He was standing in the moonlight. The moon was full, and the light was a late-summer gold. He was barefoot, wearing pants but with his torso bare, and he leaned with his hands on the railing and seemed completely lost in thought.

“David,” she called softly.

He turned around and came inside to her, sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

“Can't you sleep?” she asked. She was sleepy and limp, as if everything in her was relaxed.

“I have to go,” he said.

And Natalia understood. He didn't want them to be seen together, and he was leaving for her sake.

She was the one who had insisted the whole time that they should be discreet. But she didn't want to be discreet anymore. Her heart swelled. This was more than just a passing liaison, and she knew he must feel the same way. She had seen it in his eyes, had felt it in the heat and intensity of their lovemaking, in the intimacy they shared.

But they would have time to talk, so she nodded and he got up. He pulled on a shirt, put on his shoes, and then looked at her for a long time. He seemed as if he was on the verge of saying something, but then he just shook his head.

“Good-bye, Natalia,” he said solemnly.

“Bye,” she said with a smile.

He nodded, and she saw something come over his face. She wanted to ask if everything was alright, but then he was gone.

She sat there for a while before she crawled under the sheet, breathed in the smell of him, and fell back asleep, certain that she loved him. And that he felt the same way.

29

 

Å
sa stretched out, floating in the clear blue water. The sea was cold the way only a Swedish summer sea could be, but she needed to cool down, so she took another few tooth-chattering swim strokes before she gave up and started treading water.

Natalia bobbed a little ways away, on her back in a striped bathing suit, with her eyes closed against the sun. She was humming, splashing and smiling, and it took a while for Åsa to put her finger on what was different about Natalia today.

Then it hit her: Natalia was happy.

Åsa, on the other hand, was irritated. Not even her new bikini, which flattered her body so very well, put her in a good mood. Because what good was being super attractive if it didn't
lead
to anything?

“I still can't believe you got laid and I didn't,” Åsa called petulantily.

It wasn't just that Michel hadn't wanted to have sex yesterday. It was also the humiliating fact that for a moment Åsa had been so close to getting down on her knees and begging for it. She shivered in the cold water. No one could ever find out about this. She would die if they did.

“But you can have anyone you want,” said Natalia. “Why didn't you just go out and find someone else?” She gave Åsa a look, a contented, lazy look that made Åsa cloud over even more.

It wasn't that she begrudged Natalia anything, but did the woman have to look so
satisfied
? The kind of contentment that only a whole night of really good sex could give a woman? Åsa wanted to howl with envy.

“You've done it before,” Natalia continued, sounding both concerned and focused on finding a solution at the same time, as if she hadn't realized that this business with Michel was something completely different from the normal meaningless sex Åsa filled her life with. “This place is teeming with men. You just need to close your eyes and point and you'll get what you want,” Natalia concluded.

“That's just it,” Åsa complained. “I don't want anyone else.” Was she coming down with something? This didn't make sense. “All we did was talk.”

“Sometimes talking is good.”

Åsa didn't agree. “Can we swim back in now?” she asked. “I'm freezing my vagina off.”

They swam back to shore. After they put their clothes on, brushed their hair, and put on some lotion, they walked up to the beach promenade. Åsa hid behind her sunglasses and a broad-brimmed sunhat. Natalia had wrapped a silk scarf around her hair and looked audaciously elegant. Åsa nodded to a couple of acquaintances but didn't stop for anyone. She wasn't done with the subject of Michel.

“I'm going to meet him for coffee,” she said, wondering why she'd agreed to subject herself to that specific humiliation. He'd texted, and somehow she'd said yes instead of no. “Before they head back to Stockholm. I guess we're going to talk more. Have I mentioned that I hate talking?”

Natalia shielded her eyes with her hand. “They're going to Stockholm? When?”

“Today, I think. Didn't David mention it?”

Natalia shrugged. “He's not under any obligation to tell me anything. Besides, we were busy doing other things.” Natalia grinned wantonly, and Åsa groaned. She
hated
their roles being reversed.

A tall man waved at them, and Natalia said, “Oh, my boss. I wonder what he thinks about my ducking out yesterday?”

“I think I'll take this opportunity to skedaddle,” said Åsa, who had no desire to see J-O. She'd spotted a group of men she knew. Dumb, cocky young finance guys, exactly what her battered self-esteem needed. She pointed to them. “I'm going to go over and shake things up a little. I'll see you at the barbecue?”

Natalia nodded, and Åsa scurried off, passing J-O with a nod and receiving an appreciative smile in response before setting her course for the men.

 

Natalia saw how the young, well-groomed men welcomed Åsa with cheek kisses and a general uptick in rooster-like behavior. Natalia waited apprehensively for J-O to reach her. They met in the middle of the shoreline promenade. The sun was high in the sky, and despite her chilly swim, Natalia was sweating.

“There you are,” J-O greeted her. “You disappeared yesterday.”

“Yes,” she said, but without further comment. J-O was her boss, but he certainly didn't
own
her time.

“Was it anything I need to be concerned about?” he asked as they began strolling along side by side. “Because several people asked about you.”

“No,” she said. “I talked to the Danes. They seem calm.” She wondered if she should bring up J-O having had lunch with her father without including her, but she decided no good would come of that.

“Good.” J-O nodded toward one of the many press tents that were set up. “Walk with me.”

Natalia walked over to the press tent with him. J-O greeted a journalist and introduced her to Natalia, who greeted her politely.

Natalia noted J-O's approving looks. He was satisfied with her. And she thought she conducted herself well. She shook hands with a member of parliament, met a potential investor, and thought that this, this was what she did best: talk finance, network, build relationships.

 

David saw Natalia standing there mingling with some people over at one of the press tents along the waterfront promenade. He had just concluded a panel debate with an economics professor and a business owner. He was only half listening to the follow-up discussion now as he tried to steal an extra glimpse of Natalia. She was coolly dressed in linen, with J-O as a safe harbor at her side, and seemed to be in her element. With a beach bag over her shoulder and sunglasses on top of her head, she looked confident and efficient, energetic, competent, and actually completely radiant.

It was as if something constricted over his chest, and he swallowed at the sensation.

“Could I ask a few questions?” wondered a journalist, a woman he'd spoken to often over the years.

David tore his eyes off Natalia, smiled reflexively, and nodded in response. This journalist was always well informed and professional, and he usually tried to be accommodating for her. But he took one last look at Natalia, couldn't help himself. Her hair looked wet. Had she been swimming? She was probably an excellent swimmer. Oh, how he wished he could walk over to her, wished he could stop time, wished he could . . .

“David?”

He was lost in his own thoughts, and now he'd missed the journalist's question. He smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” he said.

“No problem,” the journalist said, but he saw her glance over at Natalia and J-O with curiosity, as if she were trying to work out what had distracted David.

She began her interview again, asked her questions, and then let her photographer do his job.

As soon as the journalist thanked David, he noticed J-O and Natalia coming his way. His heart thumped, ridiculous but true. Natalia's face was tranquil, almost without expression, but David could see her mind racing. She was worried, he realized, and he wanted to calm her down. He would never embarrass her in front of J-O. He knew what her job meant to her, how important her integrity was. How reluctant she was to be tied to him. Strangely enough, that hurt a little, even though he was the one who was about to betray her.

And then David spotted someone behind Natalia and J-O.

Ah.

This could get complicated.

When they got to him, David shook J-O's hand first. Then he looked Natalia in the eye, and it felt like oceans of time passed.

“You know Natalia De la Grip, don't you?” J-O said, and David was sure he was implying something.

David held out his hand to her. “Yes,” he said calmly. “We've met.”

Natalia hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then shook his hand, mumbling a polite greeting. She swallowed, and her slender throat tensed.

His eyes grazed the tender skin along the neckline of her blouse. A few hours ago he'd kissed that very spot. The scent of her still surrounded him, like the memory of an unusually vivid dream.

“And this is Eugene Tolstoy,” Natalia said, introducing a gray-haired man. She smiled warmly. “My uncle.”

David made his face go completely expressionless.

“My mother's brother,” Natalia added. Of course. Eugene's sister was Natalia's mother, Ebba De la Grip.

David shook hands with the Russian. They'd already met, which naturally he couldn't reveal, especially not to this group. He smiled politely at Eugene, the eccentric and extremely rich Russian who happened to own quite a bit of Investum stock. Eugene blinked at David. David bit his tongue. The man probably couldn't even spell the word
discretion
.

“What a small world this is,” Natalia commented without seeming to have noticed anything unusual. She smiled at her Uncle Eugene and J-O. “How everyone knows everyone else, I mean.”

And, David thought, it was even smaller than she realized.

Natalia looked at her uncle for a long time and then at David. She furrowed her brow slightly and then asked the question that David would really rather not have had to hear: “You two already know each other?” Her eyes were calm and slightly intrigued, but David knew she was dangerously smart. The smallest clue and she would start putting the puzzle together faster than any computer.

He wished he'd insisted that he and Michel leave town this morning the way he'd wanted. He had wanted to focus on all their commitments and just go, but Michel had been uncharacteristically stubborn, and they had stayed, and now Natalia was standing here questioning one of the men David really didn't want to start talking. He didn't know the Russian well enough, didn't know how reliable he was.

And then: saved by yet another relative.

“Alexander!” Natalia cried, looking away from her uncle. She beamed at her brother, who joined them. More handshakes and cheek kisses. David found himself shaking Alexander De la Grip's firm hand. The younger man's piercing blue eyes, completely unlike Natalia's, looked into his own. Alexander De la Grip was like a younger, more vital-looking version of his Russian uncle. And he squeezed David's hand quite hard. ”It's David, right?”

David wrinkled his brow. So Alexander De la Grip, the direct descendant of at least one Russian grand duke and notorious for his immoral lifestyle and his general lack of interest in anything other than his own pleasure, had decided to dislike him.

But David couldn't have cared less what a spoiled rich kid thought or didn't think of him. He pulled his hand back, looked at his watch, and saw that it would soon be time to leave BÃ¥stad. He made sure to excuse himself during the minor commotion that followed in the wake of Alexander's arrival.

He saw Natalia notice his departure and gave her a subtle wave. She looked so happy here, surrounded by her friends and relatives. He wanted to remember her this way, competent, together with her ilk, sun-kissed and laughing. She trained her twinkly gold eyes on his, and they shared a look, held it for a long time before David forced himself to look away. He nodded to her and then did what he should have done a long time ago: walked away.

She watched him go.

He felt her gaze on his back, on the back of his neck, but he didn't turn around.

 

Alexander noticed Natalia watching David Hammar stroll away, irritatingly self-confident, as if he owned half the world and would soon own the other half as well. There was no mistaking the look on Natalia's face—nor the look she and David had exchanged—and he wondered what was going on between his clever big sister and the force of nature that was David Hammar.

Natalia had never looked at Jonas like that, not that that had ever bothered Alexander. The rest of the family had been disappointed when Natalia and the ever-boring Jonas broke up, as if he were the best Natalia could get. But Alexander had always thought Jonas was too weak a person for his sister. Natalia was diplomatic and low-key, calm and levelheaded, but she was also strong as all hell, maybe the strongest person in the whole family. She needed an equal, not a nature buff like Jonas. But that said . . .

The ice-cold David Hammar was hardly a better choice. David was gone from view, but Natalia—his big-hearted sister who was capable of so many fine sentiments that Alexander knew he could never be capable of—was still watching where he'd been with an abandoned expression.

“Well, that's a little strange,” he said casually. Natalia raised an eyebrow.

“I would have thought David Hammar would hate us all,” he explained.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I started at Skogbacka a few years after Peter and David graduated,” Alexander began. “But the rumors lived on.” He shook his head. They were so macabre they had to be true.

“What rumors?” she asked sharply. So sharply that Alexander realized she already knew something.

“Something happened to Hammar at Skogbacka, something bad.”

“Harassment?”

“More like hazing,” Alexander said tersely. He'd hated his boarding school years.

“David has scars on his back,” she said quietly. “From a whip.”

Alexander avoided thinking about exactly how his sister came to know what David Hammar's back looked like.

“Be careful,” he said.

“
You're
giving me relationship advice?” she said with a smile. “Really?”

“He's not a nice person,” Alexander said.