Page 55 of Ship Wrecked

Despite the frustration roughening his voice, his hold couldn’t have been gentler when he captured her finger and pressed a kiss on the sensitive pad. Then he gathered her into his arms, surrounding her with warmth and cedar and comfort. One broad hand rubbed slow circles on her back, while the other sifted tenderly through her hair.

It was stupid. So stupid. In all likelihood, she’d be seeing him soon in LA, unless she decided to stay in Sweden for good once she went home. And they’d definitely have another chance at a rendezvous at the next press junket or convention, no matter where she chose to live.

Still, her eyes prickled with foolish tears, and she buried her face in his neck and clutched his back, unable to muster her usual breezy cheeriness.

When his phone dinged, he ignored it. When it dinged a second time, though, he sighed and dropped his hand from her back to dig his cell out of his pocket. Only to glance at its screen for what felt like a millisecond before grunting and shoving the phone back where it came from.

That expression on his face... she couldn’t parse the mixture of emotions there.

Asking would be nosy. She knew it. She also didn’t care.

“Who was that?” She laid her palm on his shoulder and rested her cheek there. “Your agent?”

It took him a long time to answer, but she was willing to wait.

“My father,” he finally said.

Oh. Well, that made sense, although she’d never gotten the impression he and his dad were close. Largely because Peter never talked about him. At all.

She made her best guess. “He’s checking when your flight leaves tomorrow?”

“No. He doesn’t know my filming schedule.” Another long pause. “Sometimes he sends everyone in his running club photos from his latest race. I don’t know why I’m in his text group, but I am, so I get the pics too. Apparently he ran a half-marathon earlier today.”

Only one thing could cure an acute attack of nosiness, in her experience: finding out absolutely everything she could. “Can I see?”

Without another word, he produced his phone once more, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it to her. Keeping one arm around his waist, she took a minute to study the two photos he’d received.

In the first, a small group of older men smiled for a posed shot, all wearing pristine jerseys with the same logo. Members of the running club, she presumed, commemorating the moments before their race. The second photo was an individual shot, taken as a sweat-soaked, flushed man in his late sixties or early seventies crossed the finish line.

Flipping back to the previous photo, she found that same man. Who was, presumably, Peter’s father, although that seemed rather improbable at first glance.

Slim and lean-muscled, like most natural endurance athletes, he didn’t appear overly tall. In fact, he was the shortest of his group. When he stood next to his son, Peter would likely loom over him: taller, broader, more imposing. Softer around the edges.

Larger than life. Stronger than hell.

Peter took after his mother in coloring too, because Daniel was a watercolor next to his son’s oil painting. His hair—pin-straight, sandy blond where it wasn’t gray—lay neatly trimmed above his collar and around the ears, instead of falling in wild espresso waves to the shoulders. His pale blue eyes peered at the camera with a sort of vague amiability, rather than shining sharp with ferocious intent, near-black irises snapping with wariness.

Ample time spent outdoors had burnished both men, turning their skin golden. That was about all they had in common as far as appearances, at least upon initial examination.

An exploration of their other commonalities and differences would have to wait for another day, when she had plenty of time to devote to the task. Because Peter’s past didn’t seem to be an easy subject for him.

The same could be said of her, she supposed. Other than her parents and siblings, she could count on one hand the people who knew the complete history of her early childhood.

Someday, both of them might have to share more of themselves. But not now.

“Are you certain you two aren’t twins?” After handing back the phone, she patted his chest. “Because you look so much alike.”

The growing tension in his body dissolved in an instant, and he laughed as he tucked away his cell a second time. “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that—”

“You’d have a dollar?” Arms wrapped around him once more, she snuggled close.

“Exactly.” Something soft brushed the crown of her head, and he spoke against her hair. “Maria, I have an audition in two days. But after that, if you wanted...”

When he trailed off, she waited a few seconds before giving him a verbal nudge. “If I wanted... what?”

His body subtly tensed against hers. “I could visit you and your family in Sweden. If you’d like that. If not, it’s okay.”

Her heart gave a happy little thump.

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