She tried to stop her heart from squeezing, but it wasn’t easy. She told herself it didn’t necessarily mean anything that he’d chosen to visit his mother’s special place with her, but she couldn’t make herself believe it was a coincidence that they’d just ended up in Copenhagen. They could have stopped anywhere in Scandinavia.
What did it mean?
It meant that if she didn’t get a grip, she was going to find herself headed down a dangerous path again.
She had to stop inventing feelings for him and just enjoy the moment because she didn’t delude herself: JohnDonovan was not long-term material. As soon as it was safe, he would walk out of her life and not look back.
She couldn’t forget that, no matter how special he made her feel. That was his superpower. That was why women were drawn to him.
With a broad smile that might have been a little forced, she turned to him. “Which ride next? And if you say the roller coaster, you are riding by yourself. You crushed me every time we went around a curve.”
He returned her smile, seemingly glad to be back on playful-not-serious ground again. “You can’t fight the laws of physics, Brit.”
“He who has more body mass wins?”
He laughed. “Exactly. Want to compare muscles?”
She rolled her eyes. She didn’t need any reminders. She had a feeling every one of those muscles was going to be imprinted in her mind for a very long time. “No, thanks, but next time remind me to finish my dessert.”
•••
The problem with John doing his best impression of Rick Steves was that not only was he running them ragged by exploring every inch of this pretty damned incredible city, but he was also spending way too much time with her—which wasn’t good.
He’d forgotten how easy it was to be around her. How much he liked to be around her. How good she was at giving it back to him.
What he hadn’t forgotten was how it felt to have her under him. To be inside her. To have her fingertips digging into the muscles of his shoulders and arms. The soft little cries she’d made in his ear as she came. The taste of butterscotch melting in his mouth.
The first night after they’d closed down Tivoli Gardens, they’d returned to their hotel room and collapsed on the beds. Thetwinbeds. She’d looked so relieved bythe new sleeping arrangements that he almost regretted talking to the front desk. The rest of the time she seemed so indifferent to him, it was driving him nuts.
Because he sure as hell wasn’t indifferent to her.
It had taken everything he had to stay in his own bed that night. He wanted her, and that wanting wasn’t going away. It was getting stronger. He’d been awake most of the night reminding himself of why it was a bad idea to screw around with his dead best friend’s sister, and that if he were alive, Brand would kill him for even considering it. Although if Brand were alive, John would probably already be dead for having done it the first time.
Day two had been pretty much a rinse and repeat—which only made that wanting worse. They’d been sightseeing all day. Initially she’d balked, claiming she needed to find an Internet café to do some work. But he’d distracted her with mermaids and palaces. Hans Christian Andersen’sLittle Mermaidstatue in Langelinie Park and Kronborg Castle, made famous in Hamlet, to be specific. Afterward, they’d walked around the colorful buildings that lined the canal at Nyhavn and had dinner at one of the waterfront restaurants.
He was having so much fun that he forgot it was only a distraction. She, however, hadn’t forgotten a damned thing. While he was lingering over his wine, reluctant to end the day by returning to their beds—theirseparatebeds—her mind was still on one track.
And that track didn’t have anything to do with him or the torture of their sleeping arrangements.
“If you ever get tired of saving the world, you have a brilliant future as a tour guide. I guess you’ve seen a good part of the Baltic countries now: Denmark, Norway, Finland, and Russia. I hear Sweden is beautiful. Ever been to Stockholm? What about Estonia?”
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the relaxing of his guard after a long, exhausting day. Or maybe it wasjust his ease of being around her, but John almost answered before he realized what she’d done.
Russia.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he eyed her over the candlelit table. Why had he chosen this place anyway? It was too damned romantic! “Well, if things at the paper don’t work out for you, you have a hell of a future ahead of you as a lawyer.”
She blinked innocently, which he didn’t buy for a minute. “What do you mean?”
“You are good at asking questions with lots of facts not in evidence.”
“What facts are those?”
“I never said I’ve been to Russia.”
“You didn’t need to. Where else would you have gone from Vaernes? I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that you were in Vaernes for a week or two right before those satellite images of an explosion in Russia were taken.”
She’d done it again. More fact assumptions. “What makes you think I’ve been to Vaernes before I went there to save your sweet little ass?”
