Regardless of what I had said back at the restaurant, Niklas was made for me on some fundamental level that had nothing to do with marriage or what our futures looked like. I had felt this from the beginning, when I sat in the Stockholm airport, trying to tear myself away. Only a few weeks after meeting him, leaving his apartment had hurt worse than leaving my four-year relationship with Brad. It had hurt physically in a way that it shouldn’t, in a way I hadn’t understood was possible.
And the feeling hadn’t dampened at all. After the intensity of the day, I craved his skin, his scent, the weight of his body on mine. I craved our connection, the way we came together again and again. If he had held our future over me at this moment, coaxing me to come to Stockholm right now, I might have said yes. I wondered if Niklas knew this.
The elevator dinged at an earlier floor, one that I had mistakenly pushed. Niklas’s breath came fast in my ear, and my own cheeks burned with arousal. Niklas turned me around so I faced the doors and he stood behind me, doubtless to hide the clear bulge in his pants. Just in time, because the doors opened to another young couple waiting.
The guy looked from Niklas to me and raised an eyebrow.
“Going down?”
Did I detect a whiff of double meaning in this guy’s question, or was my mind taking that turn all on its own? Niklas’s erection throbbed hard against me. I swallowed and shook my head. Niklas turned away from the couple and stifled a laugh. Behind the laugh was a promise that sent a spark straight to my core.
I elbowed him in the stomach as the doors closed, and I felt him chuckle silently against me. I turned around to face him, and he pulled me back against him.
“Don’t say it, Niklas,” I said. “It’s straight out of a bad pop song. And I think that guy heard you laugh, judging from his expression.”
Niklas just smiled.
“But you were thinking it too, weren’t you?” He bent down to kiss the sensitive skin where my jaw met my neck. He knew the answer already, but he wanted me to say it. “Weren’t you?”
He was waiting for me to respond, and if I knew him at all, I knew he wouldn’t let it go.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, I was thinking it.”
He answered me first with his body, his hands slipping down over my hips.
“And it turned you on,” he growled. He was waiting for me to admit it.
“Niklas, that’s never a problem between us.”
As the words left my mouth, I slipped my hand between them for one, long stroke of his hard length. His head fell back against the elevator wall.
“Jesus.”
His raw growl spurred me to do it again. His fingers clenched against my hips. If we went any further, I would stop caring whether or not we made it to the room. And Niklas looked like he was already past that point.
I tried to take a step backward, to get some distance, but that clearly wasn’t what Niklas had in mind. He slipped his hand under my shirt, but I caught his wrist.
“We need to stop,” I panted.
The corners of his mouth quirked up a little. His hand lay on my stomach, and he didn’t push it further. Instead, he circled his thumb over my bare skin, teasing me.
“I could list a few things I need right now, and stopping isn’t one of them.”
“I’mnothaving sex in an elevator. I’m not into sex in public places.”
His smile widened.
“Unless it’s in an entryway on a deserted street in Stockholm? Or on a white-sand beach just before sunrise on a little Greek island? Or in—”
“Okay,” I laughed, covering his mouth. “You’re making me sound…”
“Really tempting?” he mumbled beneath my hand.
I shook my head, laughing harder. “No public sex in the Ritz Carlton in San Francisco. We’re back in the U.S. now, Niklas.”
Niklas’s smile faded. I moved my hand to stroke his cheek. I didn’t have to ask. Our trip was almost over, and each reminder hung in the air between us, tingeing the connection with sadness. Niklas’s thumb no longer teased my stomach. Instead, he simply held on, his touch intimate and gentle, keeping my body against his.
He brushed a kiss over my lips as the elevator stopped at our floor. The doors opened, but he didn’t let go, and I didn’t want him to. Every step forward meant a step closer to Detroit.
