He wondered at her use of the word alone.When he’d first met her, she had seemed terribly lonely.She’d just suffered a major trauma and admitted she had friends, but hadn’t wanted to bother any of them, like she didn’t think she was important in their lives.She preferred to sort out her own problems.Summer was a strong lady, but she was also a bit of a control freak.And she didn’t like to cede that control to anyone—he’d found that out the hard way when she’d stubbornly refused his help on the night of the break in—almost as if she let go of the reins for even a second, something bad was going to happen.If she truly wanted to remain alone, then he found that a little sad.A woman like her had a lot to offer.
But then who was he to talk?He’d just admitted he was happy being a bachelor, at least for the near future.He hadn’t given the distant future much thought.Marriage and kids were words that meant little to him right now.His mother would say it was just because he hadn’t met the right woman yet.But to never get married.Never have kids.That felt…like it might be a big mistake, like he might regret the choice later on.But it seemed Summer had made that intentional decision and was sticking to it.
He’d been so engrossed in their conversation, he wasn’t aware they were now sitting facing each other on their stools, knees touching.She was rubbing her thumb across her palm again in that habitual little movement, and in an instinctive action, Mårten reached over and grabbed her hand.
“Why do you do that?”he asked, turning her hand in his so that her palm faced upward.
Summer blinked up at him as if frozen by his touch.
For one heartbeat.
Then two.
Then she snatched her hand back, but not before he saw the old scar running the diagonal length of her palm.
“It’s just a bad habit,” she said, not meeting his gaze.
“That’s a nasty scar,” he said gently.There could be lots of reasons she had an old scar on her hand.But his experience on the force made the worst kinds of scenarios circle in his head.Domestic violence was rampant everywhere.It looked like a defensive wound.Had a lover attacked her?Or a family member perhaps?Was that why she’d moved away?
Whatever the reason, it could be a clue as to why Summer was so determined to remain alone.
“Summer?”He reached out and tilted her chin until she was looking at him, and it was only then he realized he was leaning in close, his body angled toward her as he searched her face.Her caramel skin had paled, her dark eyes widening at his touch.His eyes drifted to her lips without his consent.
Oh God, he wanted to kiss her.Again.Wanted to gather her into his chest and comfort her.Wrap his arms around her, draw her mouth to his and use his body to shield her as well as console.She was a lost soul in need of rescuing.But this feeling was more than wanting to rescue her soul.His body was singing with desire.Nothing good would come of his kissing this woman.It wasn’t a smart move.There was nothing simple or easy about Summer, and so he shouldn’t start something he couldn’t finish.But he was so painfully aware of her, it was as if she had invaded every brain cell, every muscle and bone in his body.Unconsciously, he leaned further forward.
She was the one to break the spell when she got off her stool and practically ran to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Fuck.He was a complete idiot.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SUMMER SWISHED HER hand through the tall grass as she followed Mårten down the small trail between the houses, enjoying the tickle on her palm.It was already after seven at night, but the sun still had no intention of setting.The soft evening light gave the surrounding birch trees an ethereal look, and Summer breathed in deep.It was hard to imagine this stunning place meters deep in snow for six months of the year, as Mårten had described.It was warm enough to wear shorts and a tank top, and Summer relished the heat on her skin.
Nikki had been right; summer in Sweden was beautiful.The season was her namesake; her mother had thought it so American to name her first child born in the country in June with a modern, trendy name.Sometimes Summer wished for a normal name like her two older sisters.Jasmine and Lily had both fared well because they’d been born in Mexico.Herself and younger sister, Riviera—who was named after a Country Club in LA because her father had been asked to play a round of golf there by one of the company’s rich clients, and never stopped talking about it since—had been products of their new life in America.
“Here we are,” Mårten called over his shoulder as they emerged from the forest trail onto a road.They were on their way to the neighborhood supermarket to stock up on food.Mårten had promised to cook her some of the local salmon, freshly caught in a nearby stream and sold at this little gourmet shop within walking distance from his cottage.
Summer had hoped to do a run this afternoon, just a short one to stretch her legs and shake the hours of travel from her bones.But then Mårten had made her some toast, and they got talking.The subjects had been touchy ones, and she’d opened up to him more than she wanted.The conversation had left her a tad mortified that she’d revealed more than she intended, as well as a little depressed, and confused as to why telling Mårten that she was going to remain single felt like some kind of failure.He hadn’t condemned her.Well, not in so many words.But she was sure she saw pity flicker through those ice-blue eyes, and that made her mad.Not so much mad at him, but mad at herself.None of these feelings were conducive to running.Even though she was here to train, and she rarely, if ever, let her emotions rule how she trained, she’d decided that sometimes you had to listen to your body.
And then there was the other elephant in the room.She’d been sure he was about to kiss her.How dare he try that again after his callous rejection last time?And how dare her traitorous body want him too.She’d been overcome with humiliation, and this time it was she who’d done the running away.Spending the next hour lying on her cute bed in her even cuter bedroom, staring at the ceiling, mulling over her life choices.Nikki’s comment that ‘she should just sleep with Mårten, and what was the problem with having sex for sex’s sake?’kept playing over and over in her head.Until Mårten had suggested a walk to get something to eat and she grudgingly agreed.
She had reached no conclusion as to how she was going to handle living in close quarters with him for the next two weeks.But being outside in the gentle air with tiny songbirds flittering from tree to tree above her had lightened her mood immensely, and now she was feeling almost like herself again.Maybe this trip might be good for her.Get her out of her normal routine; out of her rut.If the truth be known, a tiny part of her that she barely acknowledged had been considering giving up on triathlons.Sometimes it all seemed a little pointless.Why was she killing herself just to win a race, then returning home to start training anew?It was like each win wasn’t enough anymore.At times she thought the only reason she ran, and swam, and bicycled was to keep those damn nightmares at bay.But she would not think about Marco today, not with all this soothing nature around her.
Red-painted wooden cottages, much like Mårten’s, lined the road, along with a couple of pale yellow and pale green ones scattered amongst the trees.Summer almost laughed.How many times had she seen these little historical places in tourist brochures or glossy magazines and thought they were quaint but not where people still lived.Now that she was here, however, she could see they really existed, that the Swedes took their traditions seriously and most folks out here would rather maintain a hundred-year-old building than knock it down and build a modern monstrosity.
Mårten stopped outside a small doorway at the beginning of a row of shops.The window was full of mouthwatering treats, from fresh fruit and vegetables to jars of pickled fish, boxes of crackers, jellies and pâtés, dried salamis and tubes of what looked like cheese spread.Weird, but wonderful.
“I’ll get the salmon and salad ingredients.”Mårten handed her a small shopping basket.“Why don’t you take a look around, see if anything else takes your fancy?”She watched as he headed straight to the fresh food section, trying hard not to notice those muscular thighs bend and flex beneath the hem of his shorts as he walked.Forcing herself to pivot, she wandered the other way, perusing the shelves, gawping at all the strange items, mostly in Swedish so she couldn’t decipher them.There was a deli counter that not only sold cold meat cuts—most of which she’d never heard of before—and so many cheeses she lost count, but also a selection of pre-cooked meals.There was fish stew with aioli, beef bourguignon with mashed potatoes, shrimp salad, and the famous meatballs with gravy and red sauce.Her mouth began to water and her stomach rumbled, reminding her she’d only eaten two pieces of toast today.
By the time she made it back to the checkout where Mårten stood waiting, her basket was nearly full.“Wow, you must be hungry,” he said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.Nope, it wasn’t her he was smiling at, it was the sight of all that yummy food, she told herself.
“I thought I’d try a few of your delicacies,” she quipped, even though she had no idea what most of the food in her basket was.
“Hmm.I’d go easy on the salted cod roe paste if I were you.”He picked up the blue tube that Summer had grabbed from the shelf because it looked interesting.“It’s a bit of an acquired taste.”
“I know that,” she said, grabbing the tube back, even though she didn’t.And though she wasn’t a huge fan of salted fish or caviar, she was determined to broaden her horizons, and she was damn well going to try every single thing in her basket, just to show him.
Mårten insisted on paying for everything, much to her chagrin.She was a single, independent woman, she didn’t need a man buying her food.But she didn’t want to cause a scene at the checkout either.
