“No kidding. Was your father Danish, too?”
Bax shook his head. “American. He was a marine, an embassy guard. We lived all over Europe until I was about sixteen.”
“Wow. You must be one cultured guy.”
“I have my moments.” The elevator appeared.
“So do you wish you lived over here?”
He shrugged and opened the door to let her walk into the car ahead of him. “I’m not sure I know. I don’t exactly feel like an American, but I don’t really feel like a European anymore. I’m somewhere in the middle.”
“I know what you mean,” Joss said as they got into the tiny car. “I grew up in Africa.” An experience she wouldn’t have traded for anything, but one that had left her homeless in a way, and always searching for more.
“Really?” He looked at her with interest. “How did that happen?”
“My parents are doctors,” she explained. “We lived all over. Zimbabwe, Botswana, Tanzania, mostly out in the bush.”
“What was it like?”
“It was amazing, the animals and the landscape and the people. I loved it. There was always something new. I was free there, you know? No rules.” And it had been so hard to get used to life in the real world.
“Ah. Now it all makes sense.” The car stopped on their floor and they got out.
Joss gave Bax a quick smile as they stopped at the door to the room. “Are you saying that I’m not good with rules?”
“I’m saying that you like to make your own.”
He stood there in his jeans and denim shirt, his jaw darkened with stubble from the long flight, looking just about good enough to eat. Joss took a step toward him and flowed into his arms. “Let me tell you about my rules,” she began.
“Good afternoon,” someone said cheerfully from behind them. They turned to see the bellhop walking toward them with their suitcases on the shiny brass birdcage luggage cart. “Welcome to the Royal Viking Hotel.”
Joss gave Bax a rueful grin as the bellhop opened up their door.
It was like walking into a room in some eighteenth-century palace. Glossy white paneling with gilt moldings spread across the walls. White and gold swags of fabric framed the wide windows that overlooked the waterfront. Rich aquamarine damask covered the reproduction antique chairs—surely they were reproductions, she thought feverishly—as well as the coverlet of the half-tester bed. And what a bed, high and wide and piled with pillows, just made for all manner of aristocratic decadence.
She looked over at Bax and their eyes met. And desire throbbed through her.
The bellhop came through the door with their last bag and set it down. “Let me just get your suitcases,” he began reaching for the luggage rack.
Bax took it from him and set it aside. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said smoothly.
“Well, then, I can show you—”
“Nope, won’t be necessary,” Bax told him, turning him around and ushering him toward the door. “In fact, I think we’re all set.” Bax slipped a twenty-five kroner tip in his hand and closed the door in front of his startled face.
“Now.” Bax walked back toward Joss and tumbled her onto the bed with him. “What was that you were saying about rules?”
WHEN JOSS opened her eyes the following morning, it took her a moment to remember where she was. The big bed was empty but for her, the room silent. Yawning, she found her way to the bathroom, with its aqua and white tile walls and gleaming chrome. By the time she’d brushed her teeth and washed her face, she was feeling almost human.
Wrapping herself in one of the hotel’s thick terry robes, she wandered over to the window to look out over the water. Beyond, in a pastel fantasy, lay the island of Gamla Stan, the oldest part of Stockholm. It beckoned to her from across the water. Forget about the room, however gorgeous it was. She wanted to be out there, exploring.
In time with her thoughts, there was a rattling at the door and Bax came in.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She jammed her hands deep in the pockets of her robe. “I thought maybe you’d headed out for the day.”
For a moment, he looked taken aback. “I was downstairs having coffee. I didn’t want to wake you. Sorry, I should have left a note.”
It was awkward, she thought. They’d become lovers without warning. Now, they were essentially living together as intimate strangers. She knew how to make Bax shudder with arousal but couldn’t name his favorite color. They still hadn’t found their rhythm with one another, they didn’t know what to expect.
At least not out of bed.
“Well, I’m up and around now,” she told him, sitting down on the bed. “Hey, is anything important going on today? The guide book mentioned a postal museum on Gamla Stan. I thought it might have some useful information for us. You know, stamps and stuff.”
“Sure.” He walked restlessly over to the windows to peer out. “By the way, I saw something in the paper about a stamp auction later on this week. The preauction viewing and reception are tomorrow night.”
“So?”
“So Silverhielm will very likely be there. It might be a good opportunity to make his acquaintance.”
“Wouldn’t that be convenient?” Joss said, watching Bax. He was tense enough that he was making her tense. Too many more days like this and they’d be crawling the walls. It was definitely time to do something about it.
She reached for the sash of her robe. “Well, if we’re going to be meeting Silverhielm, we should probably get prepared.”
“I think I told you, we’re going to get a briefing.”
“I mean you and I should get prepared,” she said, sliding her robe off her shoulders.
“Get prepared how?” Bax turned away from the window to look at her.
Joss gave him a wicked smile. “If you’ll just come into the shower with me, I’d be happy to explain.”
THE NARROW cobblestone streets of Gamla Stan wound between the high gabled buildings, the air still echoing with the past. Tourists and Stockholmers sat at the sidewalk cafés drinking coffee in the warm afternoon. The whole scene held the feeling of a gentler age.
Inside the postal museum, history permeated the air. All around them were displays with stamps from other eras, other places. They walked past the prize holdings of the stamp world. At least, that was Joss’s assumption. Given that all the signs and labels were in Swedish, and her current vocabulary consisted of “hello,” “goodbye,” “please” and “thank you,” it was hard to be sure.
Context was everything, Joss thought with a sigh. Otherwise, the stamps were just colored squares of paper. “I don’t suppose you could translate for me, could you?” she asked Bax.
He gave her a calculating look. “I suppose, but it’ll cost you.”
Joss frowned. “Wait a minute, I thought you were supposed to be my devoted lover. Wasn’t that what we were just talking about?”
“Well, I’m not sure that includes translation services beyond la langue d’amour.” He stuck his tongue in his cheek.
Joss raised her eyebrows. “La langue d’amour?”
“I was raised in Europe,” he said blandly.
“I see.” This was