Liza Marklund - Red Wolf

He gave in and pulled her to him. Her head was just under his nose. She was taller than Annika. Her hair smelled of apples. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. A violent jolt went through his body, so hot and rigid that it took his breath away, making him gasp.

‘Thomas,’ she whispered against his chest, ‘if only you knew how much I’ve been longing for this.’

He gulped and closed his eyes, holding her even tighter, absorbing her smell, apples and perfume and the wool of her coat, then relaxed and saw her turn her face to his. He was breathing through his mouth as he stared into her eyes, saw the pupils contract, noticing that she was panting.

If I do this there’s no way back , he thought. If I give in now I’m lost .

And he leaned forward and kissed her, endlessly slowly and carefully. Her lips were cold and tasted of gin and menthol cigarettes. Shivers ran up and down his spine. Then she took a little step towards him, almost imperceptible, but their teeth met and the warmth from her mouth entered his and a moment later he thought he was going to explode. Good God, he had to have this woman now.

‘Do you want to come home with me?’ she whispered against his neck.

He could only nod.

She let go of him and hailed a taxi, with her usual success. They stepped apart, she adopted a look that said sensible Federation of County Councils representative, adjusted her hair, and simultaneously sent him a radiant glance across the roof of the car. They climbed in their respective back doors; she gave the driver the address of her flat on Östermalm. Then they sat in their corners of the back seat with their hands clasped hard together beneath her handbag as the taxi rattled them through the city centre and up towards Karlaplan.

He paid with his business account, signing with trembling fingers.

She lived at the top of a magnificent building from 1898. The marble staircase was discreetly lit by soft brass lamps; a thick carpet swallowed their steps as she quickly pulled him towards the lift. They closed the ornamental gate and she pressed the button for the sixth floor, then pulled off his coat. He let it fall to the floor, not caring if it got dirty, and took off her coat and jacket and blouse, filling his hands with her breasts. She moaned gently against his shoulder, both of her hands massaging his groin. Then she found the zip, opened it and pulled his erection out of his underwear. He couldn’t help closing his eyes and leaning back, afraid he was going to faint.

Then the lift stopped with a jolt, she kissed him and laughed into his mouth.

‘Well, project leader, come on. We’re nearly there.’

They gathered their clothes and bags and briefcases and tumbled out of the lift. She hunted for the keys in her handbag, and he ran his tongue over the back of her neck as she unlocked the door.

‘I have to turn the alarm off,’ she whispered.

After a few bleeping sounds they were in her hallway, his hands caressing her naked waist. They moved upwards and found her breasts, she pressed her body against him before turning round and pulling him with her onto the floor of the hall.

Her eyes were radiant, her breathing light and urgent, and as he pushed into her she held his gaze and he was lost, drowning, wanted to carry on drowning until he died, then he died and everything went black for a moment when he came.

All of a sudden he was conscious of his own panting. He was lying with his knee in one of her shoes, and realized that they hadn’t even closed the door. A cold draught was making his sweaty skin shiver.

‘We can’t stay like this,’ he said, sliding out of her.

‘Oh, Thomas,’ Sophia said, ‘I think I’m in love with you.’

He looked at her lying beneath him with her blond hair spread over the parquet floor, lipstick smeared on her cheek, her mascara under her eyes. A sense of incredible awkwardness suddenly came over him, and he looked away and stood up. The room swayed a little. He must have drunk more than he thought. From the corner of his eye he saw her get up beside him, still wearing her bra, her skirt awry.

‘That was wonderful, wasn’t it, Thomas?’

He gulped and made himself look at her, slender, slightly fragile in her half-nakedness, defenceless and breathless as a small child. He forced himself to smile at her, she was so sweet.

‘You’re wonderful,’ he said, and she stroked her hand quickly against his cheek.

‘Do you want coffee?’ she asked, closing the front door and unzipping the back of her skirt, letting it fall to the ground along with her bra.

‘Please,’ he said as she walked naked through the apartment. ‘Thanks.’

A moment later she was back, wrapped in an ivory dressing gown, and holding another one, wine-red.

‘Here,’ she said. ‘The shower’s on the left at the end.’

He took the dressing gown and considered the shower for a moment. Even if Annika was asleep when he got home, it wasn’t worth taking the risk.

Sophia had disappeared off to the right somewhere; he thought he could hear the hiss of an espresso machine. Cautiously he stepped into the room in front of him, and found himself in a studio with an eight-metre ceiling and huge windows facing the dull city sky. The walls were brick, the floor the same oiled oak as in the hall.

He couldn’t help being impressed. This was what an apartment should really look like.

‘Sugar?’ Sophia called from the kitchen.

‘Please,’ he said, and hurried towards the bathroom.

He showered quickly and thoroughly, using the most neutrally scented soap he could find, scrubbing his crotch with a sponge. Took care not to get his hair wet.

She was sitting at a table of smoked glass in the designer kitchen when he came in wrapped in his wine-red dressing gown; she was smoking one of her menthol cigarettes.

‘You have to go home?’ she said, framing it as a question.

He nodded and sat down, wondering what he was feeling. Mostly he felt pleased. He smiled at her, touching her hand.

‘Right away?’

He sat for a moment, then nodded. She put the cigarette out, pulled her hands away and put them in her lap.

‘Do you love your wife?’ she asked, staring at the table.

He swallowed. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t actually know whether he did or not.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think so.’

He let his subconscious conjure up images of Annika, and his response to her.

Once, when he was still living with Eleonor, he had dreamed about her, and in the dream she had had burning hair. Her head had been covered with flames, singing and dancing around her face, and she was quite unconcerned about it. Fire was her natural element, it ran like silk along her back and shoulders.

After that night he had often imagined her like that, as someone who dwelled in fire.

‘She’s boundless, somehow,’ he said. ‘Has none of the barriers normal people have, can put herself through pretty much anything if she’s set her mind to it.’

‘Sounds a bit uncomfortable,’ Sophia said.

He nodded slowly. ‘And fascinating,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met anyone like her.’

Sophia Grenborg smiled at him, a careful, friendly smile. ‘I’m glad you came.’

He smiled back. ‘So am I.’

‘Shall I call a taxi?’

He nodded again, then looked down at his hands, waiting quietly as she went out to the phone.

‘Five minutes,’ she said.

He drank his coffee; it was too strong and too sweet. Then he stood up and put the cup on the draining-board. He went out into the hall and quickly gathered together his clothes, pulling them on with concise, efficient movements.

Once he had pulled on his coat and found his briefcase she slid up behind him, a light shadow of perfume and apple-scent. She wound her arms round his waist, laid her cheek against his back.