Ship Wrecked by Olivia Dade

Author:Olivia Dade
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Late that night, after they’d had dinner, made love for a second time, and showered together, Maria pulled the bedcovers over both of them and flopped down on his chest.

He wheezed for a moment. “Holy shit, woman.”

“You’re tough.” She patted one broad pec, then played with some of his dark hair there. “Suck it up, skitstövel.”

After shaking his head at her, he twisted a bit to reach the bedside lamp and turned it off. “Cruelty, thy name is Maria.”

They hadn’t actually discussed whether they’d sleep in the same bed. They’d simply . . . not separated. Even though Maria hadn’t spent an entire night with a lover since discovering her ex’s other life in London.

It was a fool’s act. Until she knew for certain he could commit to her the way she needed, she should maintain a healthy emotional distance. Keep the sex purely physical. Watch and wait and evaluate.

In the end, though, it hadn’t been so much a conscious decision as an instinct. A visceral urge to huddle against his warmth and allow him to see her vulnerable in sleep, a sudden certainty that pushing him away would feel wrong. Obeying that reflexive conviction, she’d followed him to his bedroom, to his bed, without a word of protest.

And that was a fool’s defense, making a dangerous choice and declaring it unthinking. Inevitable. Out of her control, so what could she do, really? What could she do but open herself up to someone else whose intentions she didn’t entirely trust, much as she cared for him?

What could she do but offer him another piece of her heart to break?

She shifted uneasily, sliding off his chest to reach the other side of the huge bed, where her own pillow awaited, comfortable and cold.

His thick arm closed around her waist and tugged her back.

“Where are you going?” Rolling onto his side, he wrapped her tight in his embrace. “I was just joking, sweetheart. I like having you sprawled on top of me. You know that, right?”

He’d thrown one heavy thigh over her legs, so she couldn’t move away. Not unless she told him to let her go.

She didn’t.

“I know,” she said, and pressed her ear against his chest, right over his heart.

It thumped steadily, each beat strong. As she listened, her breathing steadied, the metallic taste in her mouth melting back to mint.

“What did you call me earlier?” He sounded sleepy. “It wasn’t shit-boot. Something like ‘soot-no’?”

Gods above, she’d revealed entirely too much of herself today. “Sötnos.”

“Knowing Swedes, it still probably involves shit in some way.” Soft pressure against the crown of her head. A kiss. “What’s it mean?”

She bit her lip, but answered. “Literally? Sweet nose.”

“Sweet . . . nose?” His body shook as he laughed. “What the fuck, Pippi?”

Loath as she was to explain herself further, she couldn’t overlook the slight to her mother language. “American endearments don’t make any more sense, Reedton. Grown adults call each other ‘baby.’ Parents refer to their kids as ‘sweet pea’ or ‘pumpkin,’ when human children are not, in fact, produce.

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