by K T Grant
“I may be close to my mama, but hell if I’m going to share everything about my future wife with her. Have you been involved with any women since Candice?” he asked, a demanding hypothetical question since he knew her past.
“She ruined me for all other women,” she said in a rushed tone. “Also, about the future wife thing—”
“Promise me we’ll talk about it when I arrive Tuesday? We’re both staying in Reykjavik until the weekend. It will give us time to be with one another without too much stress like we deal with at home.”
“We won’t know about the stress angle until Landvik signs the final paperwork to seal the deal with us.” There was a lot riding on this deal for Landvik to break into the US market, choosing the Segal Corporation to be their main distributor, selling their beer and vodka exclusively at their hotels, restaurants, and other properties.
“For once, be optimistic. Omar has had many private talks with Svana, the CEO. They have a lot in common as heirs to a multi-million corporations who’ve lost fathers,” he said as if it was no big deal.
“Omar’s mother is still alive. Svana Landvik’s parents and older brother died in a horrible plane crash. The similarities are minimal.” She wished she had the same type of relationship Omar had with his mother, but her mother had died from an embolism a few weeks after giving birth to her. Omar’s mother had been divorced from their father for eight years when he married Kennedy’s mother.
“Omar never wanted a singing career, that’s for sure.” Fabian chuckled.
“I can’t believe we’re doing business with a former pop star.” Svana Landvik had hit the European charts at fourteen. She had just released her first US album at twenty-three, and was ready to sky rocket to international stardom when her family died in a tragic plane crash. Svana sacrificed her fame to run her family’s business and became legal guardian to her brother Konrad who was twelve at the time.
“Everything worked out for her even with her family’s tragedy. Svana Landvik has the biggest brewery not just in Iceland, but in most of Europe. Her fruit-flavored beers and vodkas are unlike any on the market. If Segal didn’t join forces with Landvik, someone else would have,” Fabian explained.
“Thank you for today’s lesson, Professor. It’s been longer than five minutes, so you’re late for your trainer. I also haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. I’m going to take a shower and grab a meal,” she retorted and entered the bathroom.
“Can you at least try one of Landvik’s beers?” he asked.
She rarely drank beer, but vodka was another matter. “I may try one. But I always fall back on my usual vodka and cranberry.” She turned on the bathroom light and shook out her hair, frizzed from her nap. She also peered at her face. Her bloodshot eyes drew her attention to her heterochromia—one iris brown, the other blue.
“If you do drink beer, you’d better take a picture. I want proof.” He puffed softly.
“Don’t pull a muscle. I’ll see you Tuesday.” She turned on the shower then tugged off her pants and underwear.
“See you then. Love ya, babe.” He finished with a loud smooch and then hung up.
“Later, babe.” She shook her head at his overuse of the endearment and then took off her sweater and bra. As steam filled the room, she stroked the tattoo of a purple raindrop with a red heart on her upper hip. Candice had a red raindrop with a purple heart in the middle. She covered her trembling lips, remembering the day they got their tats to celebrate their elopement.
She waited until she stood under the warm spray to have a good cry while whispering Candice’s name.
CHAPTER TWO
After crying in the shower until her already irritated eyes were red and burning, Kennedy set aside the contact lenses she considered her armor. She did love her retro cat-eye glasses, but they wouldn’t conceal her strange-colored eyes. She didn’t mind the occasional question or comment because she took satisfaction from their confused expressions when she informed them she had heterochromia.
With no need to impress anyone of importance, she threw on her worn black hip-hugging yoga pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. She blow-dried her hair but clipped it back instead of styling it. After pausing a moment, she sprayed on perfume and added gloss to her lips so she wouldn’t look like a total schlub. Maybe she would see Marta again, perhaps off the clock. It would be nice to have a conversation with another woman, since she didn’t have any close female friends at home.
In the lobby, she took a quick peek at the unique front desk area, but no Marta. A man in his early twenties stood guard instead. Exhaling a breath she held for some strange reason, she headed for the crowded bar where she found a free stool by the windows facing the marina.
She accepted a menu from the bartender, a handsome man near her age. He set down a cocktail napkin and said something in a strange language, probably Icelandic.
Oh no. He doesn’t speak English? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.”
“He said you have remarkable eyes.” A woman with no recognizable accent mounted the stool next to Kennedy.
“Yes, you have very unique eyes.” The bartender pointed to his green ones.
Kennedy’s face warmed. “It’s hereditary.”
The woman nudged her arm. “You must feel special, then.”
Her comeback stalled on her lips. The woman next to her had finely shaped eyebrows, one of which was pierced with a silver hoop. She also had a pixie cut with various shades of blonde highlights. Silver hoop earrings dangled from her ears, and her face was sharp but welcoming.
“Um, hi,” she responded when she could speak again.
Her seatmate wore a sexy-as-hell outfit consisting of a tight ivory blouse that barely restrained her ample chest, along with a knee-length leather skirt that looked painted on. Her black leather thigh-high stiletto boots encased her trim legs.
“Hiya.” The woman grinned at her, highlighting a large freckle or mole near her plump upper lip. “You’re the first person I’ve met with different colored eyes.” She turned to the bartender “How about you, myndarlegur?”
“Nei.” He dipped his head, showing a flag of red on his cheeks.
The woman set her hand on the bar near his. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed. I’ll bet the lady gets the question a lot. Right?”
“All the time.” Kennedy studied the woman’s hand, fascinated by her multiple silver rings, and shiny red nails. She curled her dull, unadorned fingers into her palms to hide them.
The tip of the woman’s tongue grazed the corner of her mouth, staying there long enough for Kennedy to zone in on it. As soon as she realized what she did, she shifted her gaze back to the bartender.
“Um, I’ll have a wine spritzer,” she requested.
The woman said something in Icelandic to the bartender then laughed while he just smiled.
She scrolled through her emails until curiosity got the better of her. Was this beautifully arresting woman making her the butt of a joke?
“Since I’m not fluent in your language, would you mind telling me what you said to the bartender just now?”
“She said she’ll have something stronger and to put yours on her tab,” the bartender responded in accented English and turned to make the drinks.
“Seriously?”
“About putting your drink on my tab? Absolutely.” The woman shrugged then held out her hand. “So I don’t end up calling you Wine Spritzer the entire night, we should share names. I’m Marella.”
Her uncommon name sounded familiar. Instead of concentrating on why, she focused on the woman next to her. “My name is Kennedy.”
“Welcome to Iceland, Kennedy.” Marella gave her hand a strong pump.
“How do you know it’s my first time in your country? You’re a native, right?” She left her hand in the other woman’s, despite her usual preference for short handshakes.
“Yes, I am. It’s obvious you’re visiting for the first time. Usually Americans order one of our beers or at least wine.”
She loosened her hold but kept their fingers tangled together.
Unsettled, Kennedy drew her hand back and laid it on her lap. Just far enough away so Marella wouldn’t have easy access, not that this very affable woman would do such a thing.
“I don’t like beer.” She checked her phone. It had only been a few minutes since she sat down. Why did it seem time had slowed in Iceland?
Marella gave her a sympathetic smile. “Between you and me, I’m not a fan of beer either. I prefer wine.”
The bartender returned with their drinks, and Marella requested he keep her tab open.
Kennedy lifted her glass. “Is everyone here like you? I mean, do your people go out of their way to buy tourists drinks?”
“I’ve done it a few times. This is one of my favorite hotels in Reykjavik to have a few drinks, especially on a Friday night after work. Their happy hour is also one of the best.” Marella pointed to the small plastic tabletop display, indicating the happy hour times and specials in English. “Skál.”
“Skál?” Kennedy winced as she murdered the word.
“It’s Icelandic for cheers and good health.” Marella tapped her glass to Kennedy’s and took a sip.
She spoke the foreign word much clearer this time. As she sipped, she watched Marella drink her wine, a dark red that almost matched her nail color.
“Hm, I love a good Merlot.” Marella lowered her glass and licked her lips, flashing something metallic in her mouth.
She almost choked as she swallowed. “You have a barbell in your mouth?”
“Yes.” Marella displayed her tongue, and the metal ball in the middle of it.
“Why?” Fascinating. This was the first time she’d met someone with an actual piercing in their tongue.
“I was young and stupid at the time I got the piercing. But I kept it. I also have one in my bellybutton.” Marella’s eyes twinkled. “And, no, I don’t have any others.”
Kennedy pressed her lips together to stop from laughing at a conversation she’d never thought she would have in a million years, and in Iceland of all places.
“How about you? Any piercings?” Marella crossed her legs, brushing Kennedy’s knee with the hem of her skirt.”
“Only my ears, but earrings irritate my lobes. I didn’t want to be pierced anywhere else, especially those intimate areas only a few select people have seen.”
Marella slapped the top of the bar. “Good one.” She flicked her bangs away from her forehead, flashing black ink on the inside of her arm.
“You also have tattoos?”
She lifted her sleeve and traced the ink with her fingers. “It’s fjölskyldan mín, meaning family. I got it a long time ago.”
The tattoo on Kennedy’s hip tingled. She tightened her grip around her glass to keep from rubbing at it. Asking for the story of the woman’s tattoo would make things too serious between them. She didn’t want to be solemn or reflect on her own loss then end up a blubbering mess.
“You have a beautiful name.” She brought the conversation back to more lighthearted topics.
Marella lowered her sleeve, and her head snapped up. “It’s my middle name.”
“Your middle name? Why don’t you go by your first name?”
Marella lifted her glass, downed her wine, then set aside her empty glass and flagged down the bartender. “Perhaps I’ll tell you my first name after a few more drinks.”
She swirled her drink. “How about we add food into the mix? I’m starving.”
Marella smiled and claimed her wrist with a squeeze, causing her stomach to flutter. “I’m starving also.”
***
“You’re not going to be forty in October! You look ten years younger!” Kennedy finished the last of the cheese on her plate. She rubbed her hands on her napkin and settled back in the booth. They sat close together, sharing enough appetizers for triple their party.
Marella had started out sitting across from her then moved next to her when their food arrived. After a few glasses of wine—or maybe more, she’d lost count—Kennedy felt very relaxed. Marella’s arm lay over the cushion behind her, brushing Kennedy’s back with her fingertips every so often.
Marella grimaced as she finished her glass, setting it down on the table with a click. “I’m so fucking old. What are you, thirty?”
“I turned thirty-one in January.” Kennedy sighed and licked some salt from her finger.
Marella refilled Kennedy’s glass. “Everyone I work with is younger than me.”
“You never said what you do. Something in the arts?”
Marella arched her eyebrow. “The arts? Honey, I work behind a desk. I’m an executive.”
She snickered and swallowed more wine. The wooziness in her head helped loosen her up, but also made her brave. She grasped her companion’s inked arm. “You’re an executive even with your tattoo and tongue piercing? You must work for a cool company.”
She twisted her arm, taking Kennedy’s hand. “It’s one of the coolest in Reykjavik. I work for a brewery and spirits distributor.”
“That’s why I’m here. I have a business meeting at one of the breweries. You must know Landvik, then.” Her eyelids fluttered as Marella stroked her wrist with her thumb.
“I know them very well. Their wild honey victory vodka is amazing.”
Kennedy’s eyes popped open. “Vic for Landvik?” She giggled.
“What’s the purpose of your meeting?” Marella’s breath brushed her ear.
She shifted closer. “I work for the Segal Corporation. Our headquarters are in California. We’re signing a big deal with Landvik to sell their alcohol at our properties in the United States.”
“You’re an account executive like me?”
“You could say that.” Kennedy took another sip of her wine. “I’d better stop drinking after this glass or someone might have to help me to my room.”
“I wasn’t planning on getting you drunk, so maybe you should stop.” Marella took her glass and set it down. “But perhaps you’re still sober enough for one last drink.”
“What type?” Kennedy blinked away the fuzziness in her vision.
Marella waved for their server. “Since you haven’t tried any of Landvik’s beers or spirits, we’re having a wild honey shot.”
“You sure you’re not trying to get me drunk?” Kennedy hiccupped. “You better order me a water chaser.”
The server came over and took their plates. “Yes, Madame M?”
“Two shots of wild honey vic vodka and two glasses of water.”
After their server left, Kennedy nudged her companion. “What’s with the Madame M? Don’t tell me you’re also some government official like the mayor or governor.” She scratched her nose. “Does Reykjavik even have a mayor?”
Marella tapped her chin with her fingers as a smile broke over her face. “You’re too cute. I’m not in politics. Madame M is just a nickname. Most in Reykjavik use it as a term of endearment.”
“Most? How many do you know here?” Wow. Only a few high-profile celebrities were “known” by most at home in Los Angeles.
“There’s around one hundred twenty thousand residing in and around Reykjavik, so it’s easy to know many people.” Marella’s impish smile returned. There was more to this story.
“Your personality probably has something to with it. You’re very friendly.” The server returned, and Kennedy took a healthy gulp of water, suddenly parched.
Marella dipped her finger in her vodka. “Just my personality impressed you? Nothing else?”
Kennedy swallowed an ice cube too fast it lodged in her throat. As she cleared the intrusive lump, she cut her gaze away from the sexy woman next to her.
Marella tickled her nape. “What about my fashion sense or my hair?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but froze when a vodka-laced finger stroked down her cheek to her throat.
“Maybe my face is more than pleasing to you?” Marella whispered in her ear.
A rush of liquid warm
th settled in her belly, and the atmosphere between them became charged with sensuality.
“I ah, think you’re very beautiful. Most of the women here are.” She drank more water, trying to quench her thirst. Keeping her mouth to the rim, as if it would protect her from Marella’s scrutiny, she stared ahead.
“I find you—”
“Did I tell you I’m practically engaged?” She silently cursed the squeak in her voice.
“What does ‘practically’ mean? To a man or a woman?” Skepticism lined her tone.
“To a man. Why would you think a woman?” She released a nervous laugh and finished her water.
The twinkle in Marella’s eyes gave away her amusement. But she didn’t make Kennedy feel like the butt of a joke. Nothing about the woman led her to think her cruel.
Nervous, she set her glass down and tilted it to the side to fish out another ice cube. She froze when Marella petted her thigh.
“You may ‘practically’ be engaged to a man, but your body isn’t as loyal to him as you want me to believe.” She squeezed Kennedy’s knee then skimmed up higher.
The heat swirling in her belly dipped lower. “What about my heart?”
“The heart is different. It may want one thing while the body wants another. I believe this is the case with you.” Her hand curled around Kennedy’s upper thigh.
She dropped her hand on Marella’s. “You didn’t approach me just to be nice. You had an ulterior motive.”
“You’re a smart woman.” Marella shrugged and linked their fingers. “You could have thanked me for the drink and left or given off the vibe you wanted to be left alone. You did neither.”
“How often do you do this?” Her heart rattled in her chest. She might be a pushover in some instances, but she refused to be a victim or target.
The light in Marella’s eyes dimmed, and she shifted back, although she kept their fingers linked. “I’m not, how you say, a repeat offender. I don’t go around seducing unsuspecting women or accommodating those here on holiday who want to experience something risqué or naughty. I’m not some temptress or dahlia out to steal your soul.”
