The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  “Uff, no,” Greta said. “We can’t just leave. Who would look after everything?”

  “We could do it,” Zoe said.

  Stina nodded. “Yes! And Jakob would help. You and Bengt never go away together. It would be romantic.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Greta said. “There’s no time to plan. Where would we go?”

  But she was smiling to herself, and Zoe could see that the seed of an idea had been planted. She liked the idea herself, especially if Jakob was part of the plan. Stina clapped her hands silently behind Greta’s back, and gave Zoe a double thumbs up.

  Over dinner that night in the kitchen, once the guests were settled to their own meals in the big guesthouse dining room, Zoe couldn’t help but ask about Jakob. He never seemed to eat with them, at any meal, and she wondered what he was doing. Or maybe she just wanted to hear his name on her lips, like Vera.

  “He went back to see the wolf,” Bengt said.

  She shuffled her food on the plate. “Oh…I would have liked to go too.”

  “Maybe he’ll take you tomorrow,” Greta said, giving Bengt a look.

  “Yes, I’m sure he will,” he agreed.

  “I’m just worried about the wolf,” Zoe said.

  Greta nodded. “Of course.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “I really am. I feel sort of…invested, since I found him.”

  Greta and Bengt glanced at each other. “Do you want me to phone him and check?” Bengt asked.

  “Oh no,” she said hurriedly. “No, that’s okay.” What kind of lovestruck teenager must she seem? She changed the subject. “This dinner is amazing—I should get the recipe. What’s it called?”

  Greta sat up a little straighter. “Thank you! Not everyone likes it. It’s Janssons frestelse. We always have it at Christmas, but I wanted you to try it, so I made it for everyone.”

  She started to talk about the ingredients, and the difference between Swedish anchovies (actually sprats) and true anchovies (called something-or-other else in Swedish). It seemed to be the fishy equivalent of the elk/moose complication, and Zoe tried to concentrate, but felt her mind wandering to other things…

  Later, Janssons frestelse recipe in hand, she walked back down to the cabin. After last night’s snowfall, the sky had cleared, and the million-and-one stars were bright above her. At her little blue retreat, she stopped on the step, taking it in. It would be hard to leave, when the time came. But she couldn’t be a volunteer forever. London called, and work, and her second family, and the need to find Claire before it was too late. Her own parents were in Singapore on assignment—a place about as different from here as she could imagine. Maybe she should Skype them, show them how beautiful it was. If they cared to know.

  She sighed and went inside. It wasn’t very late, even though it was so dark. She looked up the time difference, but it was the middle of the night in Singapore. Oh well. Instead, she decided to send Denise a photo of her view. Not bothering to pull her coat and boots back on, she opened the door...and gasped with surprise. Jakob was standing on the porch.

  He held up a pair of black ice skates. “Someone said you might need skating lessons?”

  Her mood went from wistful to wonderful in the blink of an eye.

  “I do.”

  Eighteen

  They rode double on his snowmobile on the way to the lake, her arms around his waist, her legs each side of his. She didn’t need to sit so close, but he wasn’t complaining. From behind him, she watched the shadowy landscape go by, wondering where the wolves were tonight and if they had noticed Brynjar’s absence.

  At the lake shore by the boathouse, he brushed the snow off a wooden bench, and they sat in the moonlight to put their ice skates on.

  “How was Brynjar this afternoon?” she asked, as she took off one boot and slipped her foot quickly into the first white skate.

  He was already tying his laces with swift efficiency. “Okay. Not great, but steady.”

  “Cross fingers he’ll start to improve.”

  He stood up. “Hold your thumbs.”

  “Hold my thumbs?”

  “Hålla tummarna.” He tucked each thumb inside closed fingers on the same hand. “For luck. Fingers don’t work here. Thumbs make the magic happen instead.”

  She laughed, thinking about the magic his fingers had worked the night before. “If you say so.”

  With both laces now tied in firm bows, she wiggled her toes in the skates. They fit her perfectly, the soft leather snug, but her ankles went this way and that as she tried to balance on her feet. The wide open space of the lake stretched away in the moonlight. No railings to cling onto out there.

  She bit her lip. “I’m not very good.”

  “You’ll be okay,” he said.

  He held out his hand, and she hung onto it as she tottered alongside him to the lake’s edge. There was no point trying to impress him now—the most she could do was try not to fall on her butt in front of him again. There was no sign of Hakon Halvarsson, but she had a moment’s terror as she imagined skating right into one of his fishing holes. Then she realised that they would surely have frozen over again by now. She made herself breathe. No panic necessary. Not hole-related panic, anyway.

  Jakob stepped confidently onto the ice, and she shuffled after him. Instantly, her feet went out from under her, and she landed on her side with a splat and an oof. Oh God, not again…and right in front of him.

  He was there instantly, helping her back up and holding her steady. “Are you okay?”

  Okay was a relative term. She rubbed her hip. She wasn’t hurt (apart from possibly getting a bruise to match the fading one on her butt cheek), but the heat of her embarrassment could melt a hole big enough for Hakon to pull a whale through.

  “I’m fine,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “I’ll get there.”

  “Okay.” He took her hand, and started to push off again. “Try it like this.”

  “Whoa…” As her feet threatened to head in opposite directions, she grabbed his upper arm with her other hand, clinging on for dear life. “Sorry.”

  He laughed. “Very graceful.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Someone needs to install hand rails out here.”

  They made their way out towards the centre, going at her slow and careful pace. If she could manage on the ice rink in Lillavik, she could do it here. At first, she was still shaky on her legs, but then she started to get more confident, tentatively pushing off with one foot, then the other.

  She wasn’t planning to let go of his hand though.

  As she found her feet, she relaxed, and the beauty of their surroundings started to come into focus. Soft moonlight, the wide sprinkle of stars, the forest coming down to hug the lake. The slight glow of Lillavik’s lights in the distance. The sound of their blades on the ice. And Jakob, tall and steady, someone to hold onto on the slippery surface. It was a scene from a movie, she had a starring role, and her leading man was totally big-screen-worthy. If she’d been on solid ground, she would have pinched herself, but she couldn’t risk any false moves. She settled for a quiet smile.

  But then, there was something else, too.

  “Wait.” She tugged at his arm, and he paused. She wobbled to a stop beside him, their hands still linked. “What’s that noise?”

  Otherworldly sounds were emanating from the lake, a strange orchestration of pings and twangs and weirdly beautiful warps. “I’ve never…it’s like the lake is singing. It wasn’t doing that when we were here last time.”

  He looked out over the moonlit icescape. “The ice shifts. That’s the sound of it moving.”

  “So the sound is sort of resonating through it, like music? It’s amazing.”

  He squeezed her hand. “It is amazing.”

  “I’m glad I got to hear it.”

  They stood for a moment, listening, hands linked, and she wished she could stop time, here in this perfect, cinematic dreamscape.

  Then a sudden sh
arp crack echoed in the cold air, and she froze—as much as she could while her feet were still threatening to scoot out from underneath her. “What was that?”

  “A crack,” he said, letting go of her hand and skating away.

  “A crack?” she squeaked, her throat barely able to let the words pass. It was a long, long way to shore—and he was going further out. What the hell? “Come back,” she whispered, not daring to raise her voice in case she caused some kind of major fissure and disappeared into the frigid depths. “Come back.”

  But he circled smoothly around her, just out of reach, teasing.

  “This is not funny,” she said, through gritted teeth. Beneath her unsteady feet, the ice suddenly seemed alive, an unknown quantity. “Seriously.”

  Maybe hearing the fear in her voice, he glided back. “It’s okay. It’s normal. There are inches of ice.”

  “Oh.” Now she was embarrassed to have got so panicky. But still mad. And relieved. “Okay, then. Thanks for the fright.”

  He laughed. “Come on. Let’s skate.”

  He held out a hand, a peace offering, and she considered it. After the adrenaline rush of her panic, she felt more like slapping him. But it was a long way back to shore, and he was matinee-idol handsome in the starlit night…and she remembered the last time she’d seen him in the half-dark. There was no holding grudges against a man with that kind of talent.

  The lake, and temptation, called. She took his hand.

  * * *

  Déjà vu. She stood on the first step, and he stood on the path. Across the clearing, his cabin waited in the snow. Behind her, her own cabin beckoned, with the fireplace, and the warm bed…

  “Here we are again,” she said.

  He nodded. “Here we are.”

  “Thank you for the skating lesson.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She knew full well she was going to ask him in, but there was something too irresistible in the anticipation.

  She glanced across at his cabin. “Do you have anything you need to do now?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Oh. Maybe it really was déjà vu. “Do you need to check on Brynjar?” That was important, of course…but she tried not to let any disappointment show in her voice.

  “No. I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  “Something else, then?”

  “Yes.”

  At the expression in his eyes, a little spark flared inside her. “Something else…”

  “Yes.”

  Just like last time, she leaned forward, and he did too. But this time, there was no sudden exit. Their kiss held all the frustration of what they’d missed the previous night, and all the promise of how they intended to make up for it. She pulled him up the steps, keeping their lips together, gloved hands fumbling with coat fastenings, laughing and swearing. Finally in the door, they shucked off their winter layers—but the cabin was cold.

  “Maybe it should be warmer,” he suggested.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  She knew she could turn the electric heating on, but when he knelt on the hearth to light a fire, she didn’t stop him. A blazing fire in a cabin in the snowy woods…a tall, dark and handsome man…sometimes a cliché was the best thing ever. She sat on the sofa with her legs tucked under her and watched him work, building a fire with the ease of years of practice.

  Soon the flames were burning brightly, and he closed the wood-burner door. He lit a couple of candles on the mantelpiece too, then turned to her. She looked up at him, and he reached down and pulled her to her feet.

  “We have something else to do, remember?” As if to clarify, he bent his head and dotted feather-light kisses in a cluster just beneath her ear, in exactly the right place to send a shiver through her body. A hot shiver. Damn, he was good.

  But she lay her palm against his chest, holding him off. “Wait. Just tell me you have something now. You know.”

  He reached for his coat, where he’d thrown it over the armchair, and took a small box from the inside pocket. “I have something now.”

  “A whole box? You’re pretty confident, wilderness boy.” She thought she might make him blush for once, but he met her teasing eyes directly.

  “I am.”

  A delicious impatience sped through her, and she laughed. “Well, that’s big talk…let’s see some action.”

  She pulled off her jumper. She’d made sure to get rid of the thermal, just in case, and now she was wearing a tight t-shirt with a plunging neckline. She smiled as his eyes fell to her cleavage, intending to taunt him a little longer, but when he looked back up, the hunger in his eyes triggered a sudden desperation in her. All at once they were tearing off clothes, each others’ and their own, half-laughing, half serious, lost in the urgent need to feel skin on skin.

  And then, with every item of clothing discarded, they stood facing each other, firelight playing on their naked bodies. He took her face in his hands, and her hurried breathing slowed and steadied, until she was nearly holding her breath. With the fire’s heat warming her left side, and the heat of desire warming the rest of her from the inside out, she waited.

  She’d never known anyone like this man. Undomesticated, yet so civilised—a dangerous, intoxicating combination. Who would have thought that surly guy who met her at the station would turn out to be such an irresistible diversion?

  Finally, he lowered his head to kiss her, and when their lips met, her body’s reaction was as though she’d been waiting one year, not one day. Warm breath, seeking tongues, wandering hands…the rush filled her veins and ignited every secret part of her. He kissed her with expert thoroughness, a promise of the pleasures ahead. And this time, she knew, they could take any pleasure they wanted. And she wanted them all.

  By the time they paused for breath, her knees were wobbly, her heart was pounding, and all she wanted was to get him horizontal, and get serious.

  “God, this is good,” she said, pressed against him, feeling his arousal insistent against her belly.

  He ran his hands down her back, crushing her closer. “Do you want to stay here, or…?”

  She looked around. The whole lovemaking-in-front-of-the-fire thing always sounded good, but the rug was kind of knobbly, and the hearth was of sharp-edged stone, and there wasn’t much room.

  “The bedroom?”

  She’d barely got the words out before he had her hand, and was on his way. She laughed as he scooped her up in the doorway, and deposited her on the bed.

  “Wait,” he said. He went back out to the living room, but before she had a chance to ask what he was doing, he was back, carrying a candle and triumphantly holding up the box. “Very important.”

  But she wasn’t looking at the box. In the candlelight, he was sculpted, golden, and utterly enticing. She crooked her finger at him, and he tossed the box on the bedside table, put the candle down more carefully, and obeyed.

  In the warm, shifting light, they lay side by side. His fingers travelled over her skin, caressing the curves and dips of her body, while she let her hands and eyes explore his lean, strong physique. A fine scar ran down the length of his thigh, evidence of something major in his past. He saw her noticing it, and answered her unspoken question. “I have a pin in my leg.”

  She remembered what Vera had said about an accident—maybe it was the result of that. But she wasn’t going to risk ruining the moment by asking him about it now.

  “Iron man, huh?” she murmured, tracing her finger gently down the scar. Then she followed it back up to the top of his thigh, and higher again, until her fingers closed around the steely-warm hardness that awaited there. “Iron man.”

  His only response was a swift intake of breath as she began moving her hand in firm, confident strokes. It was intoxicating to hold him captive this way—seeing his taut muscles tense, hearing his ragged breathing, feeling him move at the mercy of her hands—and an insistent, answering heat grew between her own thighs.

  Then he gathered himself, giving a low, frust
rated rumble as he forced himself back from the edge. With a determined look in his eye, he flipped her over, so that she was underneath him.

  “Not so fast,” he said. “I have some things to do to you. I want to do it properly, the first time.”

  His words triggered a rush of desire, and she wrapped her legs around him.

  No, it definitely wasn’t the time for questions.

  It was time for something else.

  Nineteen

  Zoe turned and tipped her head back, letting the hot water run over her head and down her back. This morning-after feeling was so heavenly—a tired body, but a lingering, deliciously decadent haziness. They hadn’t got through that whole box, but they’d made a damn good dent in it. She smiled as she soaped herself all over, all the places where his lips and hands had been…which was everywhere.

  Her phone rang in the bedroom—da-da, da-da, da-da-da-da-da-da—but she turned her face into the stream of water, ignoring it. Right now, she really, really didn’t want to think about the massive conflict of interest she’d leapt into. Because it had been the best bad decision of her life. Best, as in hottest.

  As she wrapped a towel around herself, she heard a man’s voice calling her name from outside. She stopped still to listen, but it wasn’t Jakob. He’d gone already, needing to get some things done, but had promised to see her later.

  “Zoe!”

  The shout came again, and she tugged on her clothes. “Just a minute!”

  With her hair still dripping, she dashed to the door. Malin and Fredrik were outside, looking like they’d skied out of a Fjällräven ad. Both of them were wearing puffer jackets and reflective sunglasses, and leaning casually on their ski poles. Malin had a backpack too, which she imagined was holding extremely healthy snacks.

  “Hej, Zoe,” Fredrik called, and Malin gave her a wave.

  “Hej,” she said, drying the ends of her hair with her towel. It was way too cold to be out here, damp and barefoot. “You’re out early.”

  It was lucky Jakob had already left—she didn’t feel like a repeat of the last time he and Fredrik had met on her doorstep.