Stockholm Diaries, Melanie Page 21

  Henrik nodded.

  “Okay,” he whispered, kissing her on the top of her head. “Just try. That’s all I’m asking.”

  The tea had worked. Her insides had finally begun to thaw, awakening her to the touch of his skin on hers. She shifted for more contact and felt his body respond, his hand slowly stroking her side, his arousal pressing into her.

  “So you’re coming?” he asked, his voice tentative.

  “Of course,” she said. “I want to meet her because she’s your mother, too. Not just because of my father.”

  Henrik was silent for a moment.

  “Really?”

  Mel chuckled.

  “You expected a little more resistance?”

  She felt his body relax into her as he gave a little laugh.

  “Well, yes.”

  “I’ll tell you more about it later,” she said. “But I’d rather not talk right now.”

  She pulled his face closer for a soft kiss. But what followed was far from soft. The feeling of his lips, the smell of the salt water on his skin and the taste of his mouth on hers lit her body, sending pulses of ache and longing everywhere. He groaned deeply.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  “God, I hope so,” she whispered.

  She climbed onto his lap so she straddled him, her breasts just grazing his chest. She paused for a moment, taking him in: the firm swells of his shoulder muscles under her fingers, the rise and fall of his chest, the mix of pleasure and restraint in the hard line of his mouth. She met his eyes, and he didn’t look away. The deep green coaxed her closer, promising things she hadn’t known she wanted. She leaned forward and pressed her lips into his neck. She heard his breath in uneven rasps in her ear. His hands settled on her back and slowly moved down, over her rear, caressing her thighs.

  He reached for the covers and pulled them up around her back, enclosing them in a sea of blankets.

  “I don’t want you to get cold,” he said, his lips almost touching hers.

  “Cold is the last thing on my mind right now.”

  She wanted him badly, but she reached beyond the hunger of physical need, wanting more this time.

  “Henrik?” she whispered.

  He met her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes.

  “I’m scared of how much I missed you,” she said, “when I wasn’t sure whether you’d come back.”

  Henrik was watching her, his gaze hot, intense and full of emotion.

  “Oh, Melanie,” he breathed. From this position, her on his lap, they now sat eye to eye. Henrik rested his forehead against hers and let his fingers run down her cheek. He didn’t say more. Instead he cupped her face in his hands and brought her mouth to his for a deep, slow kiss so full of longing that Mel had the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

  She felt her tears brimming over as Henrik kissed her, falling, running over his fingers as he caressed her cheeks. He pulled back and studied her.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  Mel shook her head and lowered her eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. But Henrik gently lifted her chin, keeping his eyes on hers.

  “This is new for me,” he said. “And I spend a lot of time worried I’m going to mess it up. But I’m still here trying.”

  Henrik closed his eyes and swallowed hard, as if he were making some sort of decision. Then he took a deep breath and looked back at her.

  “Melanie, you’re so intelligent and sexy and beautiful. And I can’t believe you want a lonely, cynical man like me. I keep waiting for you to wake up one day and realize that.”

  He looked so sad from his own stark assessment that she moved to kiss him again. She felt his erection throb against her stomach, and he let out a rough breath. Mel struggled to concentrate.

  “But what if I know you, Henrik, and you’re exactly what I want?”

  She watched him carefully as she spoke. His eyes widened, and for a moment, there was something that looked like hope on his face. But as his mouth parted and he drew in a sharp breath, his face shuttered closed. She swallowed, trying to think of something else to say, something to stem the sinking feeling that she had said too much. But Henrik spoke first.

  “I—” he hesitated.

  He looked over her shoulder out the window. Her heart gave a jolt as she imagined what he was trying to say. Her imagination wasn’t coming up with anything good. She brushed a lock from his forehead, moving her hand through his hair and down his neck. He looked back at her.

  “Melanie, what if I don’t make you happy? If we start down that path, and it takes the same turn as my marriage did?”

  Mel raised her eyebrows.

  “But don’t you think we can work through it?” she asked with a little smile. “We’re not your parents, you know. Or mine, for that matter.”

  She studied the creases in his forehead as he took in what she had said. Finally, he met her eyes again, but the look on his face was more confused than before.

  “Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound completely convinced.

  Mel’s smiled faded a little.

  “Are you lonely?” she asked.

  The question had struck Mel when he had said the word a few minutes before, and repeating it was painful. For all his need for solitude, the thought of Henrik eating each meal alone in his cabin, not talking to anyone for days at a time—she didn’t want that image in her head. His forehead wrinkled again as he seemed to consider her question.

  “No,” he said, sounding surprised. “Not now.”

  Mel smiled and nodded slowly.

  “Me neither,” she said, putting her hand on his cheek, finding the place where his smooth skin met the roughness of his stubble. “Not now.”

  The strain on Henrik’s face began to disappear, and he closed his eyes at her touch. She brought her lips to his. He stroked the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deeper into the kiss. She opened her mouth to his, giving him all the longing she had felt this past day apart, and his body responded. She rose up on her knees, positioning herself over him, teasing him, teasing herself, drawing out the moment before they finally joined.

  And then she sank down on him. A soft moan came from deep inside her. She closed her eyes, shutting off everything else except the feeling of him filling her. At last they were together again. Mel was surprised at the relief that mingled with her pleasure, at how much her body had craved this most basic connection with him.

  He lifted her hips and brought her down around him, reminding her of all the pleasure this simple act brought them both. Though his words warned her off, his body seemed to be doing quite the opposite. And her own body responded, as it always did to him, urging her to rise up again and feel the delicious friction of their movements. Slowly, she moved her hips up his hard length, feeling an emptiness as she left him. His hands traveled down her back, over her rear. He pulled her back down onto him, thrusting hard, meeting her with his hips. She cried out, and he let out a low, deep groan.

  There was nothing else like this, nothing like being with Henrik. The why of it was too much to think about as he lifted her hips again, but that simple truth coursed through her as his thick, hard length filled her. This mix of pleasure and closeness was an answer to all her deepest questions—there was nothing else on earth at that moment besides the feeling of being with him.

  “Henrik,” she moaned.

  “My God, Melanie,” he whispered in breathless pants. “You don’t know how much it turns me on when you say my name like that. That I can give you this much pleasure. Because I’ve never felt like this before. Ever.”

  She felt him thrust harder and deeper into her. The sounds of their voices met as the sensation coursed through her. Mel grabbed onto his thick shoulders and began a steady rhythm. Henrik’s eyes, heavy and filled with desire, fixed on hers. Soft moans left her lips, but they sounded far away as the tension began to build inside her. She pulled in closer to his body and closed her eyes, concen
trating on the heat of his skin, the stretch of her most sensitive parts around his thick erection. Her nipples dragged against his chest as she rose and sunk back down on him, sending jolts of pleasure through her.

  Suddenly, she was on her back with Henrik hovering only inches above her. He had managed to turn them into this position while keeping them joined, though Mel wasn’t entirely sure how he had done it. He was still now, his eyes glittering as he stared down at her.

  “Don’t leave me, Henrik,” she whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  “I won’t,” he said, “You’re mine.”

  Speaking these words set him off. His thrusts came, quick and hard, again sparking the pleasure that had been building between them. Her body responded to his relentless drive, asking for more. Mel held onto him tightly as she approached the edge of bliss, her body meeting his again and again. His face filled with emotions that he didn’t try to hide. He put his hand under her hips, adjusting their angle for a deeper thrust. It only took one. Her release came in waves, the flood of ecstasy washing through her.

  Henrik cried out long and torn, a mix between pleasure and something else. Mel was too lost in her own state of bliss to figure out its meaning. But he held her tightly to him as he found his own release, shuddering against her.

  He collapsed onto his side, pulling her with him, unwilling to let go, it seemed. She gently traced the rises and slopes of the muscles down his back. He was all hers right now, and she, his, and that was what mattered more than anything else.

  “What is it?” Henrik’s voice was soft, and she felt his warm breath in her hair. He pulled away a little, and she saw a wrinkle of worry between his eyebrows.

  Mel shook her head and gave him a smile, but the wrinkle didn’t disappear. She took a long breath.

  “Henrik, without you there were times that were… empty in a way that they’ve never been before. And that scared me,” she whispered, swallowing.

  Henrik nodded. He ran his hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, smoothing it over her shoulders. The wrinkle had grown deeper, and his lips parted to speak, but it was a long time before words came out.

  “I’m not like your father, Melanie. I spent a long time wishing I was more like him, but that was before I understood how much he hurt you and your mother. I’ve always been on my own, and I wanted to love someone the way he loved the woman in his poems—not just physically, but something more. I’ve never—” he broke off. Then, his gaze hot and intense, he said, “You make me feel that way. That I no longer want to be alone. And that I want to be the best man I can for you.”

  Oh. After their conversation on the boat, this certainly wasn’t what she had been expecting him to say. Mel realized she had been holding her breath while he was talking. She let it out in a long, shaky exhale.

  “You already are the best man for me,” she asked softly. “But what happens after this summer?”

  The wrinkle between his eyebrows finally disappeared, and he gave her a little smile.

  “Whatever you want. As long as it includes both of us,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But before we get into that, I think my mother is probably awake and wondering if I got lost on my way over. Or worse.”

  Mel laughed. “Or worse?”

  Henrik snorted. “Or she could guess what’s really holding us up. Which certainly sets the tone for your first meeting.”

  Mel buried her head in his chest as she felt the heat climb to her face. It was going to be hard to hide the languid pleasure on her face.

  “In that case, I’d better make myself look presentable,” she said, reluctantly rolling out of Henrik’s arms and off the bed. “And you’d better get the satisfied look off your face, too.”

  Chapter 23

  “You cut your hair,” Mel said as she closed the cabin door behind her.

  Henrik looked amused.

  “I thought women were supposed to notice that kind of thing right away.”

  Mel rolled her eyes.

  “I thought we had already established some gaps in your knowledge of women,” she said dryly. “Besides, you distracted me.”

  She took a step closer to him and ran her hand through his hair. It fell stubbornly back on his forehead, but it no longer reached his eyes.

  “Nice, but I liked it longer,” she said and then started down the steps of the deck, onto the dirt trail.

  “Then I won’t cut it next time,” he said simply, though she could hear the smile in his voice.

  But as they crossed the island, they both fell silent, the tension building as his cabin came into sight. Mel slowed her pace as they approached, thinking of all the questions she wouldn’t ask his mother. She had known Mel’s father personally as a young man. Whether or not she was the woman who plagued his journals, Henrik’s descriptions suggested that she had connected with Mel’s father more personally than anyone else she had spoken with. She held the kind of elusive knowledge Mel had come to Sweden looking for. But did it really matter anymore?

  They came to a stop at the bottom of Henrik’s front porch steps. He took her hand and kissed it. He tucked her arm into his, and they walked up together. But before he opened the door, he turned back to her. His eyes were serious.

  “Remember, don’t mention you’re Björn’s daughter.”

  Mel frowned. Now this? Only minutes after experiencing the closest, most satisfying connection of her life, he was going back to managing her?

  “Were those my words of encouragement?” she asked dryly. “Not ‘relax, she’ll love you?’”

  He squeezed her hand and tried to smile.

  “Sorry. Relax. She’ll love you.”

  His breath sounded shallow, and for the first time since she had met him he looked nervous. He bent down and kissed her hard. Then he stepped forward and opened the door.

  They walked in, but it took a moment for Mel’s eyes to adjust to the dark interior. Slowly, his mother came into view. She sat on the couch, positioned next to the photograph of her that Mel’s father had taken, as if to provide a contrast just for Mel.

  She was older now—logically this made sense, of course, but somehow his mother’s age surprised Mel. She had been expecting the version in the photo, not the reality that almost thirty years of living showed. His mother’s hair, which fell in long waves over her shoulders, was now touched with grey, and the photo hadn’t captured the cool blue of her eyes.

  She was still strikingly beautiful.

  It occurred to Mel that Henrik had done almost nothing to prepare her for the visit. She didn’t know the most basic greetings in Swedish. In fact, she didn’t even know his mother’s name.

  Mel walked across the room, and Henrik’s mother stood up to shake her hand.

  “I’m Melanie,” Mel said, taking his mother’s small, cool hand in hers.

  “Ann-Kathrin,” she said.

  Mel froze, staring at the woman in front of her. Ann-Kathrin. The name on the bundle of letters. They were from Henrik’s mother. She had to be the woman. Mel didn’t even need to ask. She had suspected as much for a while, but knowing it for sure still threw her off. Slowly, she let out her breath, trying to keep her emotions under control.

  It took Mel a moment to realize that Henrik’s mother was staring just as intently at her.

  “Where is your cabin?” She spoke in soft, deliberate British English.

  “My cabin?” The question took Mel by surprise. “Just on the other side of the island.”

  “You are Björn’s daughter,” said Ann-Kathrin. “You look like him.”

  This wasn’t a question, and Ann-Kathrin didn’t seem to be waiting for a confirmation. Mel glanced over at Henrik. His jaw clenched tight, and he stared at the floor. He knows, too. She was sure of it, though from the shock in his expression, Mel guessed that he hadn’t truly entertained the idea until this moment.

  Mel turned back and nodded, th
ough Ann-Kathrin’s gaze was so distant that Mel wasn’t sure that she noticed.

  “I’m so sorry you lost your father,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  This wasn’t the time to bring up the fact that she barely knew her father because he deserted her.

  “Henrik said you knew him, too,” said Mel, keeping her face blank.

  “I did, long ago.”

  Mel had left the statement deliberately open, but Ann-Kathrin didn’t elaborate. And as much as the biographer in her wanted to ask more, Mel couldn’t bring herself to pose the questions she knew would hurt Henrik. His wounds were too fresh, and the pain showed on his face, though his mother didn’t seem to notice. Maybe another time, but not today.

  The room was quiet for a moment. Ann-Kathrin stood up, returning to the present.

  “Please come sit down,” she said, gesturing to the deck that faced the water. Mel could see through the window that the picnic table had been neatly set for the occasion. Mel glanced over at Henrik again, but he didn’t look at her. He had let go of her hand somewhere in the past few minutes and shoved his own hands hard into his pockets.

  “I’ll get the coffee,” he said abruptly, and he turned and left the two women on their own.

  “He cares about you,” said Ann-Kathrin quietly. “I can see that.”

  Mel smiled a little.

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  Ann-Kathrin nodded but she kept her gaze on the sea.

  “Did he tell you about his marriage?”

  “Just a little.”

  Henrik had said almost nothing about his ex-wife. Who was the woman he had vowed to love forever? Mel wanted to dig further, though she knew her morbid curiosity wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

  “He cared about his ex-wife, too,” said Mel tentatively.

  Ann-Kathrin turned to study her.

  “Sometimes that’s not enough,” she finally said. “Not everyone is capable of truly loving someone else.”

  The statement boiled in Mel, and she had to stop herself from snapping back. Henrik’s own mother didn’t believe he could love someone? Mel took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she spoke.